Univ.-f///..  Library 

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THE 


SCHOOL-GIRL  IN  FRANCE, 

OR 

0narc0  of  JJoperi) : 

A 

WARNING  TO  PROTESTANTS 

against  education  in  catholic  seminaries. 


TENTH  EDITION. 


NEW- YORK : 

PUBLISHED  BY  J.  K.  WELLMAN, 

No,  116  Nassau  Street 


1846, 


B.  W.  BENEDICT  Sc  CO  f 
Stereotypers  and  Printers 
16  Spruce  S t r c * * s 


2 3/*,  <+1-/U 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER.  PAGE 

I.  The  Letter 9 

II.  The  Farewell  Visit ••  13 

III.  A Roman  Catholic  School 19 

IV.  The  Influence  of  Error • ••• 25 

V.  New  Scenes  and  Rangers 33 

VI.  The  Funeral 40 

VII.  The  Pious  Roman  Catholic 50 

VIII.  The  Grey  Sisters 5S 

IX.  The  Youthful  Backslider 62 

X.  Restoring  Mercy • • • 69 

XI.  Sunday  Employments 75 

XII.  Romish  Idolatry 82 

XII.  The  Nuns  of  St.  Thomas 89 

XIV.  Claire  de  Liancourt-  • • 96 

XV.  The  First  Communion 103 

XVI.  School  Persecution 109 

XVII.  The  Hidden  Snare •••117 

XVIII.  Sunday  Temptations 122 

XIX.  The  Missionary  Association 127 

XX.  Protestant  Inconsistency 135 

XXI.  The  Fete  Rieu .*••*140 

XXII.  Traits  of  Character 149 


iv  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER.  PAGE' 

XXIII.  The  English  Teacher 156 

XXIV.  The  Country  Party 161 

XXV.  Sunday  Trials 167 

XXVI.  True  Friendship 174 

XXVII.  A Change  of  Residence * 180 

XXVIII.  The  French  Protestant  School 186 

XXIX.  The  Convent 194 

XXX.  Convent  Scenes 200 

XXXI.  The  Confessional 211 

XXXII.  An  Unwelcome  Guest 217 

XXXIII.  The  Discussion 22G 

XXXIV.  A Melancholy  Event 233 

XXXV.  The  Departure  •••••••••«« 240 


PREFACE 


In  presenting  the  following  narrative  to  the  public,  the  author  is 
fully  conscious  that  it  has  many  imperfections  ; but  she  is  anxious 
that  a right  estimate  should  be  formed  of  its  character.  It  is  not 
a work  of  fiction,  but  a collection  of  facts,  thrown  together  into 
one  tale,  with  scarcely  any  additions,  and  few  other  alterations 
than  those  which  were  absolutely  necessary,  in  order  to  disguise 
names,  places,  and  dates. 

It  has  fallen  to  her  lot,  to  witness  many  of  the  evils  attendant 
on  the  too  common  practice  of  sending  young  persons  to  the  con- 
tinent, at  that  very  period  of  life  when  the  mind  is  most  unguard- 
ed, the  feelings  most  susceptible,  and  the  principles  most  uncer- 
tain. She  has  seen  the  snares  spread  for  the  inexperienced,  the 
spells  thrown  over  the  warm  imagination,  the  fascinations  en- 
twined round  the  youthful  heart,  by  that  most  dangerous  system 
of  false  religion,  which,  appealing  with  almost  irresistible  power 
to  the  senses,  through  them  prostrates  the  reasoning  faculties, 
and  thus  silently,  but  surely,  weaves  its  fatal  net  around  the  un- 
suspecting victim.  She  has  thus  seen  the  foundation  of  a Pro- 
testant education  sapped  and  undermined,  till  the  promising  fabric, 
reared  by  parental  fondness,  has  been  levelled  with  the  dust,  and 
the  deluded  parents  left  to  mourn  their  alienated  child  a prey  to 
the  seductions  of  Popery,  or  the  not  less  probable  danger  of  un- 
settled principles,  and  practical  infidelity. 

It  is,  unfortunately,  too  much  the  custom  with  parents,  to  lull 
their  minds  into  a false  security  on  the  subject,  by  requiring  a 
promise  from  the  Romish  instructors,  to  whom  they  entrust  their 
children,  that  no  attempts  shall  be  made  to  interfere  with  their 
1# 


VI 


PREFACE. 


religion;  and,  satisfied  with  this  assurance,  they  persuade  them- 
selves that  there  is  no  cause  for  fear.  Alas!  how  greatly  are 
they  mistaken ! The  promises  thus  given  are  often  indirectly,  if 
not  directly  broken ; and  even  where  there  is  a conscientious  ad- 
herence to  the  engagement,  there  are  a thousand  perils  and  snares, 
inseparably  and  necessarily  connected  with  a residence  among,  and 
constant  intercourse  with,  the  votaries  of  the  Romish  heresy, 
which  can  only  be  avoided  through  the  special  interposition  of  a 
merciful  Providence.  Let  such  parents  remember  the  daily 
prayer  they  teach  their  children, — “ Lead  us  not  into  temptation,” 
— and  the  solemn  warning  addressed  to  them,  by  Him  “ who 
searcheth  the  heart,  and  trieth  the  reins,” — “ Thou  shall  not  tempt 
the  Lord  thy  God.” 

No  Roman  Catholic  instructress  could  more  conscientiously 
refrain  from  all  intentional  interference  than  Madame  d’Elfort ; 
yet  the  Author  again  assures  her  readers,  that  the  evils  she  has 
attempted  to  describe,  as  resulting  from  a residence  under  her 
roof,  are  not,  in  any  degree,  either  imaginary  or  exaggerated ; 
neither  are  Madame  d’Elfort,  her  establishment,  and  her  pupils, 
at  all  fictitious.  She  could  easily,  and  without  any  violation  of 
truth,  have  deepened  the  picture  with  darker  shades ; she  could 
have  painted  an  unhappy  father,  deserted  in  his  old  age  by  two 
daughters,  who  had  been  taught  that  it  was  a meritorious  work, 
and  one  which  would  secure  their  salvation,  to  bury  themselves 
in  the  living  death  of  a cloister,  while  by  thus  trampling  on  every 
filial  duty,  they  brought  down  their  parent’s  grey  hairs  with  sor- 
row to  the  grave.  She  could  have  sketched  the  affecting  picture 
of  a bereaved  mother,  whose  heart  has  been  broken,  and  her  re- 
maining days  embittered,  by  the  apostasy  and  undutifulness  of  an 
only  child,  once  her  joy  and  hope  amidst  a life  of  severe  trial,  and 
whose  principles  were  gradually  perverted  by  the  inconsiderate  in 
dulgence  of  a Protestant  governess,  who  unreflectingly  allowed  her 
occasionally  to  attend  a Popish  chapel,  and  thus  exposed  her  to  the 
snares  and  artful  machinations  of  the  Papists.  But  she  forbears;— 
such  instances  have  been  but  too  frequent;  her  object  was  to 
point  out  the  minute,  every-day  dangers  connected  with  a Roman 
Catholic  seminary,  even  under  the  most  favorable  circumstances  *. 
and  she  trusts  she  has  said  enough  for  that  purpose.  She  hopes 
that  Christian  parents,  who  value  the  principles,  the  immortal 


PREFACE. 


Vll 


souls,  the  eternal  interests  of  their  children,  will  no  longer  send 
them  forth  “ as  sheep  in  the  midst  of  wolves.” 

If  there  are  any  parents  so  ignorant  of  the  religion  they  profess, 
as  to  imagine  that  there  is  but  little  real  difference  between  Pro- 
testantism and  Popery,  and  that  it  is  of  no  consequence  what  we 
believe,  if  we  are  but  sincere  in  that  belief,  the  author  would  ear- 
nestly entreat  them  to  study  the  Word  of  God  with  more  atten- 
tion, and  prayer  for  the  teaching  of  the  Holy  Spirit ; they  will 
then  see  that  “ there  is  none  other  name  under  heaven,  given 
among  men,  whereby  we  must  be  saved,”  but  the  name  of  Christ ; 
“ neither  is  there  salvation  in  any  other  5”  and  that,  as  the  church 
of  Rome  substitutes  many  other  methods  of  salvation,  and  many 
other  Saviours,  in  the  place  of  Him  “ whom  God  has  anointed,” 
she  is  essentially  an  anti-christian  church,  and  therefore  to  be 
dreaded,  as  the  greatest  enemy  to  genuine  Christianity.  And  if 
they  are  members  of  the  church  of  England,  she  begs  to  refer 
them  to  the  xvmth  Article  of  their  church,  in  confirmation  of 
her  assertion. 

Finally,  she  would  say  to  all  Protestant  parents,  whatever  their 
peculiar  sentiments  may  be,  “ If  your  children  must  go  to  France, 
place  them  at  least  in  the  hands  of  Protestants.  There  are  many 
such  establishments  there,  conducted  by  English  instructors, 
where  they  may  enjoy  all  the  advantages  of  a French  education, 
combined  with  the  far  more  important  benefits  of  religious  in- 
struction, on  scriptural  principles.”  If  this  simple  narrative,— 
this  “ plain,  unvarnished  tale,”  should  be  made  instrumental  in 
preserving  but  one  lamb  of  the  Saviour’s  flock  from  the  snares, 
pitfalls,  and  innumerable  perils  of  a Popish  school,  she  will  thank 
Him  “without  whom  nothing  is  strong,  nothing  is  holy  that 
her  humble  labor  “ has  not  been  in  vain  in  the  Lord.” 


THE 


SCHOOL-GIRL  IN  FRANCE. 


CHAPTER  1 

THE  LETTER. 

Lead  us  not  Into  temptation. — Matthew  vi.  13. 

It  was  a beautiful  morning,  in  the  early  part  of  summer.  The 
trees  and  fields  were  clothed  with  the  loveliest  verdure ; the  fea- 
thered songsters  of  the  grove  were  warbling  a hymn  of  gratitude 
to  their  beneficent  Creator;  the  flowers  seemed  to  breathe  their 
sweetest  incense  to  his  praise;  and  every  feature  of  the  surround- 
ing landscape  wore  the  aspect  of  peace  and  joy. 

This  sweet  serenity  of  nature  diffused  its  calming  influence 
over  the  minds  of  two  young  friends,  as,  with  arms  fondly  linked, 
they  slowly  walked  along  a pleasant  country-road,  that  led  from 
their  native  village,  within  sight  of  the  deep  blue  waters  that  roll 
through  the  British  channel*  Their  thoughts  were  intent  on  sub- 
jects of  deep  importance  to  both ; yet,  for  some  time,  neither  had 
spoken  a word. 

“ Dear  Caroline,”  at  length  observed  the  elder,  a pensive-look- 
ing girl  of  seventeen,  whose  dark  eyes  and  hair  gave  additional 
interest  to  the  paleness  of  her  cheek,  “how  lovely,  how  very 
lovely  is  this  scene  ! but,  oh,  how  long  it  may  be  ere  we  again  be- 
hold it!” 

A smile  of  cheerful  hope  illumined  the  sweet  countenance  of 
her  blue-eyed  companion,  as  she  replied,  “ My  dear,  drooping 
Emily,  you  must  not  yield  to  these  foreboding  fancies.  *A  year 
or  two  will  soon  pass  away,  and  I trust  we  shall  then  return  to 
this  beloved  spot,  with  minds  improved  by  instruction,  and  hearts 
expanded,  but  not  corrupted.  Our  education  will  then  be  finished, 
and  our  principles  more  firmly  fixed,  by  the  experience  we  shall 
have  had,  of  the  superiority  of  truth  over  error.” 


10 


THE  LETTER, 


<c  God  grant  it  may  be  so !”  exclaimed  Emily,  clasping  hot 
hands,  in  the  energy  of  her  feelings,  “but  I cannot  altogether  di- 
vest myself  of  a fearful  apprehension,  which  makes  me  wish  that 
our  parents  had  not  thought  it  necessary  to  send  us  to  France,  for 
that  fashionable  polish  to  our  education,  which  is,  after  all,  of  so 
very  little  real  value.” 

“ Well,”  replied  Caroline,  “ I cannot  enter  into  your  view  of  the 
subject.  I am  quite  delighted  with  the  prospect  of  the  new 
scenes,  characters,  and  manners  we  shall  witness,  and  the  various 
sources  of  knowledge  that  will  be  open  to  us ; and  I can  fear  no 
attraction  in  those  empty,  worldly  pleasures,  which  we  have 
already  renounced,  nor  any  danger  in  a religion,  with  the  errors 
of  which  we  are  so  thoroughly  acquainted.” 

“Perhaps  I am  wrong,”  said  Emily,  after  a pause;  “perhaps 
there  is  too  much  unbelief  and  distrust  in  my  present  fears ; but 
oh ! Caroline,  when  I reflect  on  my  own  weakness  and  insuffi- 
ciency ; when  I think  how  £ averse  to  good  and  prone  to  ill  ’ my 
treacherous  heart  continually  proves  itself,  and  remember,  at  the 
same  time,  that  I am  soon  to  be  exposed  to  those  snares  into 
which  so  many  others  have  fallen, — I shrink  back  with  involun- 
tary alarm  from  the  contemplation.” 

A deep  sigh  attested  the  sincerity  of  her  fears,  and  she  pressed 
her  hand  to  her  forehead  in  thoughtful  dejection. 

“ Dear  Emily,”  said  Caroline,  affectionately  pressing  her  hand, 
“do  not  thus  distrust  the  power  and  faithfulness  of  God;  you 
know  ‘ he  giveth  power  to  the  faint,  and  to  them  that  have  no 
might  he  increaseth  strength.’  Remember  how  often  dear  Mr. 
Somerville  has  told  us,  that  we  could  do  nothing  of  ourselves, 
but  that  we  must  look  to  Christ,  and  there  we  should  find  help.” 

“ You  are  right,  Caroline,”  replied  Emily,  her  countenance  re- 
suming somewhat  of  its  usual  mild,  yet  thoughtful  serenity. 
“ You  know,”  continued  she,  smiling,  “ that  I am  a foolish  crea- 
ture ; but  I trust  my  Saviour’s  strength  will  be  ‘ made  perfect  in 
my  weakness.’  ” 

The  two  friends  had  now  reached  a turning  in  the  road,  from 
whence  they  perceived  a servant  approaching,  with  a letter  in  his 
hand.  He  presented  it  to  Emily,  who  received  it  with  an  ex- 
pression of  delight,  which  was  re-echoed  by  her  companion. 

“ Let  us  take  the  road  through  the  fields,  that  we  may  be  able 
to  read  it,”  exclaimed  Caroline.  “Dear,  dear  Mr.  Somerville! 
was  it  not  just  like  him  to  write  immediately? — was  it  not  just 
like  a father  ?” 

“ He  has,  indeed,  been  a father  to  us,”  observed  Emily,  “ and  I 
am  sure  this  kind  letter  is  worthy  of  his  exalted  character,  as 
well  as  of  his  sacred  office.” 

It  was,  as  she  expected,  an  epistle  full  of  pastoral  admonition, 
and  expressing  the  most  friendly  solicitude  for  their  spiritual  wel 


THE  LETTER. 


11 


fare.  Mr.  Somerville  wrote  in  answer  to  a request  they  had 
made,  that  he  would  favor  them  with  directions  for  their  guidance 
in  the  land  of  strangers. 

“ As  you  tell  me,”  said  this  excellent  friend,  “ that  your  parents 
have  permitted  you  to  choose,  for  your  school-residence,  one  of 
those  favored  spots  in  that  spiritual  wilderness,  where  the  bless- 
ings of  a scriptural  ministry,  and  Christian  fellowship,  may  be 
enjoyed,  I feel  much  less  concerned  at  your  temporary  exile  than 
I otherwise  should  ; at  the  same  time  that  there  is  much  less  oc- 
casion for  counsel,  either  from  me  or  any  other  person.  The 
directions  you  will  find  in  your  Bible,  and  in  the  other  religious 
books  that  you  will  take  over  with  you,  joined  to  the  instructions 
of  the  pastor  under  whose  ministry  you  will  sit,  and  the  promised 
and  implored  guidance  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  will,  I am  persuaded, 
render  any  body  of  rules,  to  be  drawn  up  by  me,  altogether  unne- 
cessary. 

“ If,  however,  it  will  afford  you  tany  satisfaction,  that  I should 
express  my  sentiments  on  the  occasion,  I will  tell  you,  that  the 
chief  danger  I should  apprehend  for  you,  in  any  case,  would  not 
be  from  the  religion , but  rather  from  the  irreligion  of  the  country ; 
and  it  is  against  the  latter,  especially,  that  I would  entreat  you 
to  be  tremblingly  on  your  guard.  No  one  ought,  indeed,  to  feel  se- 
cure from  the  seductive  influence  of  false  principles,  in  situations 
where  those  principles  are  daily  presented  to  the  mind,  and  where 
there  is  not  that  protection  against  them,  wrhich  is  afforded  by  a 
frequent  intercourse  with  the  professors  of  the  truth,  and  a regu- 
lar attendance  on  the  simple  and  faithful  preaching  of  the  una- 
dulterated gospel.  But,  with  the  knowledge  you  possess,  of  what 
the  religion  of  Jesus  is,  and  wrhat  the  tenets  of  popery  are:  and 
taking,  as  I am  persuaded  you  will  do,  from  the  first , a decided  part 
for  the  one  against  the  other,  I do  not  anticipate  that  you  will  be 
in  much  danger,  during  your  residence  on  the  continent,  of  be- 
coming Roman  Catholics.  There  is  something  in  every  doctrine, 
in  every  circumstance  connected  with  that  religion,  so  contrary  to 
the  gospel  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  so  different  from  its  spiritual 
nature  and  soid-humbling  influence  ; and  so  discordant  to  the  feel- 
ings of  a renewed  heart,  which  has  deeply  felt  the  necessity  of  a 
free  and  full  salvation  in  him,  that  I trust  you  will  be  in  no 
great  peril  from  its  otherwise  fascinating  powder. 

44 1 cannot  say,  however,  that  I am  quite  so  easy  with  regard  to 
the  power  of  godliness,  as  I am  in  reference  to  the  form  of  it. 
You  will  find  fit  difficult,  when  living  in  the  midst  of  ungodly 
society, — dwelling,  as  you  most  probably  will,  in  an  establishment 
wlmre,  with  a superstitious  regard  to  some  externals,  there  pre- 
vails, notwithstanding,  an  habitual  neglect  of  the  life  of  religion  ; 
you  will  find  it  difficult,  I say,  when  mixing  continually  with 
light,  frivolous,  and  worldly-minded  persons,  however  moral  and 


12 


THE  LETTER. 


upright  their  character  in  other  respects,  to  avoid  losing  that  task, 
that  relish  for  spiritual  things,  which  is,  after  all,  the  grand  essen 
tial.  Guard,  then,  chiefly  against  this  snare ; and  ever  keep  in 
mind,  of  how  little  avail  it  would  be  that  you  should  return  to 
your  country,  Protestants  in  name  and  profession,  and  with  an 
undiminished  attachment  to  that 4 form  of  sound  words’  in  which 
you  have  been  brought  up,  if,  at  the  same  time,  you  should  no 
longer  be  devoted  in  heart  to  the  service  of  him  who  now  appears 
in  our  eyes  4 the  chiefest  among  ten  thousand,’  and  the  4 altogether 
lovely.’  Such  a conviction  as  this,  joined  with  the  use  of  the 
means  to  which  it  will  naturally  prompt,  will  form  your  best  safe- 
guard, and  most  effectual  protection,  under  him  whose  grace  and 
detence  I most  sincerely  implore  on  your  behalf.” 

44  Keep  near,  I beseech  you,  my  dear  young  friends,  to  that  Al- 
mighty Saviour.  Walk  humbly  and  consistently  with  your  God, 
and  endeavor,  above  all  things,  by  fervent  prayer  and  diligent  Bi- 
ble-reading,  to  cultivate  an  uninterrupted  communion  with  him, 
and  a spiritual  and  watchful  frame  of  mind.  Oh!  cling  to  Jesus 
with  the  ardor  of  faith,  and  you  need  not  fear  nil  the  powers  of 
hell  combined.  4 He  will  cover  you  with  his  wings,  and  undei 
his  feathers  you  will  be  safe ; his  faithfulness  and  truth  shall  be 
your  shield  and  buckler.’  I recommend  the  whole  of  that  beauti- 
ful ninety-first  Psalm  to  your  frequent  and  attentive  perusal. 

“ I pray  that  4 he  who  hath  begun  a good  work  in  you  will  per- 
form it  until  the  day  of  Christ.’  To  his  merciful  guidance  I com- 
mit you  both.  May  he  not  only  4 keep  you  from  falling,’  but  bless 
you  with  a very  abundant  measure  of  the  influences  of  his  Holy 
Spirit.  May  he  4 shed  his  love  abroad  in  your  hearts,’  enrich  you 
with  all  the  ‘fruits  of  the  Spirit,’  and  enable  jsou  ever  to  rejoice 
in  your  Saviour, 4 with  joy  unspeakable,  and  full  of  glory .* 

44  Mrs.  Somerville  presents  her  most  affectionate  regards,  and 
joins  in  every  prayer  for  your  spiritual  prosperity,  with 
Your  very  sincere  friend, 

Charles  Somerville” 


G— — , 19th  June.’ 


CHAPTER  11. 


THE  FAREWELL  VISIT. 

I will  not  fail  thee,  nor  forsake  thee. — Joshua  i 5. 

After  the  conversation  related  in  the  foregoing  chapter,  it  is  un* 
necessary  to  say  much  of  the  previous  history  of  Caroline  How- 
ard and  Emily  Mortimer.  They  were  cousins,  and  had,  from 
their  infancy,  been  so  much  together,  that  the  most  sisterly  affec- 
tion and  confidence  subsisted  between  them.  Their  characters, 
indeed,  were  essentially  different ; but  the  contrast  they  presented 
only  served  to  endear  them  more  fondly  to  each  other. 

Caroline  had  been  nursed  in  the  lap  of  parental  indulgence, 
and  the  sunny  brightness  of  her  disposition  had  scarcely  been  ob- 
scured by  a single  cloud.  She  possessed  a softness  and  pliability 
of  temper,  which  made  her  truly  amiable ; but  her  character  was 
principally  marked  by  an  extreme  susceptibility  of  feeling,  which, 
m after  life,  might  prove  a dangerous  snare. 

Emily  had  lost  her  mother  in  early  childhood,  and  this  severe 
loss  haa  been  but  ill  supplied  by  a mother-in-law,  who  considered 
it  a duty  to  thwart  her  every  inclination,  and  to  bring  her  up  un- 
der a system  of  continual  restraint  and  coercion.  The  perpetual 
vexations,  and  trials  of  temper,  arising  from  this  circumstance, 
had  saddened  a disposition  naturally  buoyant,  and  thrown  a deep 
shade  of  thoughtfulness  over  the  native  enthusiasm  of  her  character. 

The  cousins  had  been  sent  to  the  same  school,  in  a neighboring 
town,  and  remained  there  three  years.  During  that  time  they 
were  brought  under  the  faithful  preaching  of  the  gospel  5 a privi- 
lege they  had  never  enjoyed  before.  The  labors  of  Mr.  Somer- 
ville had  been  greatly  blessed  to  them  ; and  through  the  influence 
of  that  Divine  Spirit,  who  alone  can  make  His  own  word  effectual, 
they  were  enabled  to  devote  themselves  to  the  service  of  their 
God.  The  effects  of  this  happy  change  were  visible  in  the  cha- 
racter and  conduct  of  both.  It  regulated,  without  lessening,  the 
extreme  sensibility  of  the  one,  while  it  elevated  and  sanctified  the 
ardent  imagination  and  enthusiastic  feelings  of  the  other. 

On  returning  to  their  paternal  homes,  they  carefully  treasured 
the  many  excellent  counsels  of  their  faithful  and  beloved  pastor. 
They  did  not  shrink  from  avowing  their  attachment  to  the  princi- 
ples of  the  gospel ; but  though  they  met  with  some  opposition, 
and  many  petty  persecutions,  in  the  shape  of  temptation,  ridicule, 
and  vexatious  annoyances,  they  endeavored,  by  an  humble  and 
consistent  walk,  to  “ adorn  the  doctrine  of  God  their  Saviour  in 
all  things.”  They  were,  however,  young  and  inexperienced,  and 
felt  that  they  greatly  needed  an  Almighty  arm  to  uphold  them. 


14 


THE  FAREWELL  VISIT. 


As  the  gospel  was  but  little  known  in  that  part  of  the  country’, 
they  considered  it  a peculiar  privilege  that,  through  the  introduc- 
tion of  Mr.  Somerville,  they  enjoyed  the  friendship  of  an  elderly 
clergyman  and  his  wife,  whose  distinguished  piety,  and  Christian 
kindness,  made  their  society  and  counsels  invaluable. 

Mr.  Morton,  who  was  rector  of  a neighboring  parish,  was  a 
man  venerable  for  his  years  and  experience,  respected  for  his  up- 
rightness and  consistency,  and  beloved  for  his  active  Christian 
benevolence.  There  was  a patriarchal  simplicity  in  his  manners, 
which  peculiarly  fitted  him  for  the  office  he  filled;  and  while  the 
uncompromising  faithfulness  of  his  ministerial  character  pointed 
him  out  as  the  firm  defender  of  evangelical  truth,  the  kindness  of 
his  heart,  and  the  assiduity  with  which,  in  imitation  of  his  divine 
Master,  “ he  went  about  doing  good,”  proved  him  the  sympathiz- 
ing and  affectionate  father  of  his  flock. 

Mrs.  Morton  was,  without  exception,  the  most  charming  wo- 
man the  cousins  had  ever  seen.  She  was  about  fifty,  remarkably 
pleasing  in  person,  and  affable  in  address.  Her  manners  were 
elegant,  yet  perfectly  unstudied ; her  countenance  expressive  of 
every  benevolent  feeling;  and  there  was  a nameless  charm  in 
everything  she  did — an  inexpressible  something,  so  sweet,  so  cap- 
tivating, that  no  heart  endowed  with  sensibility  could  resist  its 
powerful  attraction.  It  was  the  unaffected  simplicity  and  candor, 
the  warm  and  spontaneous  kindness,  of  a heart  overflowing  with 
Christian  love,  that  shed  a holy  benignity  over  her  every  word  and 
action,  and  made  her  the  object  of  enthusiastic  affection,  to  all 
those  who  were  privileged  to  eall  themselves  her  friends. 

Emily  and  Caroline  had  now  been  some  months  at  home,  when 
they  were  suddenly  informed  that  it  was  their  parents’  intention 
to  send  them  for  a year  or  two  to  a French  boarding-school,  for 
the  purpose  of  completing  their  education  in  the  language  of  that 
country.  This,  although  the  ostensible,  was  not  the  only  reason 
that  prompted  this  determination.  This  strange  adoption  of  fa- 
natical opinions, — as  the  change  in  their  religious  principles  was 
called, — had  been  a source  of  much  vexation  to  their  respective 
families,  and  had  disappointed  many  a long-cherished  expecta- 
tion ; and  it  was  hoped  that  an  introduction  to  different  scenes 
and  pursuits,  a removal  from  serious  friends  and  associations,  and, 
above  all,  an  immersion  in  the  gaieties  of  French  society,  would 
be  successful  in  eradicating  those  impressions  which  every  effort 
had  hitherto  failed  to  overcome  ; besides  imparting  that  artificial 
polish  to  their  manners,  which  the  frequent  intercourse  with 
France  had  now  rendered  so  fashionable. 

Little  did  these  short-sighted  parents  consider,  or  reflect  on,  the 
dangers  to  which  they  were  thus  exposing  their  children  ; they 
never  once  thought  either  of  the  religion  or  irreligion  of  the  place 
to  which  they  were  about  to  send  them.  But  not  so  Mr.  and  Mrs. 


THE  FAREWELL  VISIT. 


15 


Morton.  They  saw  the  necessity  of  endeavoring  to  counteract 
the  evil,  and  advised  their  young  friends  to  request  that  they 

might  be  permitted  to  choose  a school  in  the  town  of  S , 

where  they  knew  that  an  English  place  of  worship  existed,  and 
the  unspeakable  advantages  of  a gospel  ministry,  and  a small  cir- 
cle of  serious  Christians,  might  be  enjoyed.  Emily  and  Caroline 
thankfully  accepted  the  suggestion,  and,  after  some  difficulty,  sue 
ceeded  in  obtaining  their  request 

They  were  on  their  road  to  Clifden  parsonage,  to  visit  these  ex- 
cellent friends  for  the  last  time  before  they  left  England,  and  once 
more  listen  to  the  blessed  acccents  of  Christian  friendship  and 
advice,  when  Mr.  Somerville’s  letter  arrived,  with  the  important 
counsels  they  had  requested.  It  furnished  them  with  most  inter- 
esting subjects  of  conversation,  till  the  modest  spire  of  Clifden 
church  emerged  to  their  view,  from  its  surrounding  screen  of  an- 
cient and  lolty  trees. 

A group  of  cottages  and  farm-houses,  remarkable  for  their  neat* 
ness,  and  their  appearance  of  rustic  comfort,  encompassed  this 
venerable  edifice.  It  was  of  antique,  and  extremely  plain  archi- 
tecture, and  its  walls  were  darkened  by  the  hand  of  time.  The 
church-yard  was ‘equally  unadorned,  and  contained  few  monu- 
ments more  elegant  than  the  plain  white  tomb-stone,  on  which 
were  simply  engraven  the  name  and  age  of  the  person  whose  re- 
mains it  covered.  But  the  grass  that  profusely  mantled  the  graves 
was  remarkably  green  and  fresh,  and  the  humble  daisy,  with  its 
blossoms  of  silvery  white,  or  slightly  tinged  with  a shade  of  deli- 
cate pink,  bespangled  in  wild  luxuriance  the  peaceful  abode  of 
the  dead. 

Behind  the  churchyard  was  the  parsonage.;  it  was  originally  a 
low,  rambling  and  irregular  building,  but  one  end  of  it  had  been 
rebuilt  in  a more  modern  style,  for  the  convenience  of  its  inhabit- 
ants, and  though  it  had  no  claims  to  architectural  beauty,  pre- 
sented an  appearance  of  great  neatness  and  comfort. 

When  the  cousins  opened  the  little  white  wicket-gate  in  front, 
their  senses  were  immediately  saluted  with  the  perfume  of  the 
flowers,  which  grew  in  rich  profusion  round  the  smooth  grass- 

Elat ; but  the  most  delightful  fragrance  seemed  to  arise  from  the 
eautiful  borders  of  thyme,  which  were  then  in  full  bloom.  “ Oh !” 
exclaimed  Caroline,  “ how  truly  may  this  spot  be  called 

‘ The  sweet  abode  of  piety  and  peace  !’ 

It  seems  to  diffuse  a holy  calm  over  the  mind ; and  its  loveliness 
is  indeed  a striking  emblem  of  its  dear  inhabitants.” 

Emily’s  heart  responded  warmly  to  this  observation ; but  that 
heart  was  too  full  for  utterance,  and  they  silently  proceeded  to 
the  house.  Several  beautiful  pigeons,  Mrs.  Morton’s  favorite 


16 


THE  FAREWELL  VISIT. 


proteges,  started  at  their  approach  from  the  parlor- winuows,  on 
the  outside  of  which  they  had  just  been  feeding  from  their  mis- 
tress’s hand,  and  flew  to  their  dwelling  in  the  garden.  A large  and 
well-fed  cat  was  basking  in  the  sun  before  the  door,  and  a pretty 
lap-dog  ran  to  welcome  the  well-known  visitors,  with  many  a 
joyful  bound,  and  many  an  artless  caress. 

Mrs.  Morton  received  her  young  friends  with  unaffected  kind- 
ness ; Mr.  Morton  was  absent,  on  one  of  his  usual  visits  to  his 
sick  parishioners,  but  he  soon  joined  the  little  party,  and  entered 
with  lively  interest  into  their  conversation.  Emily  communicated 
to  her  friends  the  contents  of  Mr.  Somerville’s  letter.  Mr.  Morton 
expressed  the  warmest  approbation  of  them,  but  did  not  seem 
quite  so  fearless  as  his  friend,  on  the  subject  of  Popish  influence. 
He  had  passed  a part  of  his  youth  in  France,  and  was  consequently 
well  acquainted  with  the  danger.  He  therefore  availed  himself  of 
the  opportunity  to  give  the  cousins  the  most  important  cautions, 
and  strongly  exhorted  them  to  be  always  on  their  guard. 

“ Remember,  my  dear  young  friends,”  said  this  venerable  man, 
M that  Popery  is  a religion  which  appeals  most  powerfully  to  the 
senses : which  possesses  every  facility,  from  the  seductive  nature 
of  its  tenets,  and  the  imposing  splendor  of ’its  ceremonies,  for 
dazzling  the  imagination,  perverting  the  judgment,  and  ensnaring 
the  heart.  I apprehend  no  danger  for  you  from  its  grosser  and 
more  palpable  errors ; but  there  are  subtleties  in  its  system,  to 
which  a young  and  ardent  mind  is  peculiarly  exposed, — and  per- 
haps more  imminently  so,  if  it  takes  a deep  interest  in  religion.” 

The  rest  of  the  morning  was  spent  in  this  interesting  conver- 
sation, and  the  cousins  treasured  up  with  gratitude  his  friendly 
admonitions.  After  dinner,  Mrs.  Morton  invited  them  once  more 
to  take  a walk  to  the  sea-side,  where,  at  a short  distance  from  the 
parsonage,  was  a beautiful  little  bay,  the  romantic  scenery  of 
which  excited  the  admiration  of  all  wno  beheld  it. 

It  is  impossible  to  imagine  anything  more  sweetly  picturesque, 
than  the  road  which  led  to  this  spot.  The  hills  which  rose  ab- 
ruptly on  each  side  were  clothed  with  delightful  verdure,  and 
formed  between  them  a deep  and  lovely  valley,  diversified  with 
pretty  cottages,  and  small  gardens  carefully  cultivated,  and  smiling 
in  all  the  gay  luxuriance  of  summer.  A few  sheep  were  peace- 
fully feeding  on  the  hills ; and  a small  rivulet,  after  gliding  for 
some  time  with  a gentle  murmur  that  was  scarcely  heard,  rushed 
suddenly  and  noisily  down  the  declivity,  as  if  impatient  to  lose 
itself  in  the  waters  of  the  ocean  An  abrupt  turning  in  the  road 
conducted  to  a rustic  little  mill,  and  beyond  it  the  eye  rested  on 
the  romantic  features  of  the  bay,  with  its  fantastic  groups  of  rocks 
along  the  shore,  while  the  deep  blue  expanse  of  the  sea  terminated 
the  prospect  on  that  side. 

Emily  and  Caroline  walked  by  Mrs  Morton,  each  clasping  an 


THE  FAREWELL  VISIT. 


17 


arm  of  that  amiable  woman,  and  gazed  on  the  scene  with  mingled 
feelings  of  pleasure,  tenderness,  and  sorrow.  They  conversed  on 
the  goodness  of  him,  who  has  clothed  with  so  many  charms  this 
beautiful  creation,  and  Mrs.  Morton  spoke,  with  the  enthusiasm 
of  deep  feeling,  of  his  tender  love  to  his  children — of  his  covenant- 
mercies  to  his  chosen — to  those  who  are  interested  in  his  Son’s 
salvation.  She  dwelt  on  the  kindness  and  compassion  of  that 
mighty  and  merciful  Saviour; — his  tender  sympathy  in  the  trials 
and  sorrows  of  his  people ; — and  his  unchangeable  faithfulness, 
which  is  pledged  to  be  their  eternal  safeguard.  “ Like  as  a father 
pitieth  his  children,”  said  she,  “ so  the  Lord  pitieth  them  that  fear 
him.  We  have  not  an  high  priest  who  cannot  be  touched  with 
a feeling  of  our  infirmities,  but  was,  in  all  points,  tempted  like  as 
we  are,  yet  without  sin  He  is  our  nearest,  our  tenderest,  and 
most  sympathizing  friend,  one  1 who  sticketh  closer  than  a broth- 
er,’ and  who  ‘ will  never  leave  us  nor  forsake  us.’  1 Oh ! how 
great  is  his  goodness,  and  how  great  is  his  beauty !’  How  inex- 
pressibly blessed  are  those  who  have  this  Saviour  for  their  por- 
tion !” 

Mrs.  Morton’s  countenance  glowed  with  animation,  and  her 
young  friends  hung  on  her  every  word  with  feelings  of  unutterable 
affection.  They  were  now  standing  on  the  projecting  brow  of  a 
cliff,  which  commanded  an  extensive  view  of  the  surrounding 
objects.  They  sat  down  on  the  soft  grass,  and  contemplated  the 
beauty  of  the  scene.  Beneath  them  lay  the  mighty  ocean,  un- 
ruffled as  a peaceful  lake ; its  rippling  waves  gently  stealing  over 
a bed  of  smooth  sand,  or  dashing  their  harmless  spray  around  the 
rocks  that  obstructed  their  progress.  A few  fishing  boats  were 
slowly  gliding  over  its  azure  bosom,  and  the  white  sails  of  a ship 
in  the  distance  agreeably  contrasted  with  the  sparkling  waters. 
In  the  valley  behind  them  all  was  peace  and  rural  beauty;  the 
sweet  murmur  of  the  falling  stream,  and  the  no  less  pleasing  echo 
of  the  waves,  were  the  only  sounds  that  broke  on  the  silence  of 
the  evening  air. 

Absorbed  by  the  interest  of  their  conversation,  the  three  friends 
lingered  in  this  beautiful  spot,  till  the  declining  rays  of  the  sun, 
tinging  the  clouds  with  purple  and  gold,  warned  them  to  return  to 
the  parsonage.  As  they  were  leaving  their  seat  on  the  cliff,  the 
cousins  paused  to  take  a farewell  look,  and  their  eyes  were  suf- 
fused with  tears,  as  they  thought  on  the  time  that  must  elapse, 
ere  they  could  hope  again  to  see  this  endeared  and  interesting 
spot. 

The  richest  hues  of  sunset,  as  the  great  luminary  disappeared 
behind  the  hills,  had  spread  themselves  over  the  horizon,  and 
evening  was  “drawing  her  crimson  curtains  round,”  when  they 
reached  the  parsonage.  Mr.  Morton  was  waiting  for  them,  and 
they  sat  down  to  the  tea-table.  During  this  truly  English  meal, 
2* 


18 


THE  FAREWELL  VISIT. 


the  conversation  of  the  morning  was  resumed,  and  the  pious  pas 
tor,  and  his  excellent  wife,  bestowed  many  a parting  counsel  on 
their  youthful  friends.  But  the  shades  of  night  closed  around, 
and  the  moon,  rising  in  silver  radiance,  warned  Emily  and  Caro- 
line that  it  was  time  to  return  home.  Before  they  parted,  how- 
ever, they  all  knelt  in  fervent  prayer,  and  Mr.  Morton  commended 
them  to  the  protection  of  divine  grace.  He  dwelt,  with  affec- 
tionate minuteness,  on  the  nature  of  their  case ; their  tempta- 
tions, and  their  wants  ; and  implored,  with  great  earnestness, 
those  blessings  which  were  suited  to  their  peculiar  circumstances. 
He  pleaded,  with  the  ardor  of  faith,  the  rich  and  immutable 
promises  of  the  gospel,  and  committed  them  to  the  care  of  their 
heavenly  Father,  with  all  the  humble  boldness  of  holy,  filial  con- 
fidence. The  objects  of  his  kind  solicitude  were  bathed  in  tears 
during  this  affecting  exercise ; but  a soothing  hope  seemed  to  dif- 
fuse itself  over  their  minds,  as  the  beautiful  colors  of  the  rain- 
bow irradiate  the  gloom  of  a stormy  sky. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Morton  accompanied  them  to  the  foot  of  the 
church  hill,  where  they  were  to  enter  the  carriage.  On  emerging 
from  the  wicket  gate,  Caroline  plucked  some  wallflowers  from  a 
large  cluster,  with  which  Mrs.  Morton’s  hand  had  ornamented 
the  hedge.  Their  delightful  fragrance  was  increased  by  the 
evening-dew,  and  to  her  fancy  they  seemed  to  breathe  of  peace, 
of  friendship,  and  of  happiness.  They  crossed  the  churchyard  in 
silence,  for  it  recalled  many  affecting  recollections.  A few  steps 
from  the  gate  were  two  little  grassy  mounds,  over  which  they  had 
often  bent  on  their  way  to  the  parsonage.  Beneath  their  humble 
surface,  unmarked  by  stone  or  name,  slept  in  sweet  repose  the 
bodies  of  two  infants.  Once  more  they  paused  to  look  at  these 
interesting  graves,  and  almost  envied  the  lot  of  their  happy  little 
tenants.  They  passed  by  the  door  of  the  church,  through  which 
they  had  so  often  accompanied  Mr.  Morton,  on  his  return  from 
performing  divine  service;  and  the  tears  of  long-suppressed  feel- 
ing flowed  unrestrainedly,  at  the  thought  that  they  were  now  part- 
ing with  those  beloved  friends,  whom  the  uncertainty  of  life 
might  prevent  their  evei  meeting  again  on  this  side  the  grave. 

“ My  dear  children,”  said  the  minister,  comprehending  their 
emotion,  and,  in  his  usual  fatherly  manner,  pressing  both  their 
hands  in  his,  “ forget  not  that  you  have  a gracious  and  Almighty 
Friend,  who  is  ever  near  you,  and  ever  willing  to  ‘help  in  every 
time  of  need.’  Follow  Mr.  Somerville’s  advice, — keep  near  to 
that  all-sufficient  Friend,  and  carefully  avoid  every  doctrine  and 
practice,  contrary  to  the  holy  and  spiritual  character  of  his  gospel. 
Let  the  Bible  be  your  standard,  and  try  every  sentiment  by  that 
infallible  touchstone.  Let  your  aim,  in  every  action,  be  to  glorify 
your  God  and  Saviour;  and  remember  that,  if  you  should  meet 
with  any  opportunity  of  being  useful  to  others,  by  making  known 


A ROMAN  CATHOLIC  SCHOOL. 


19 


to  them  that  Saviour  as  he  is  revealed  in  his  word,  it  is  your  duty 
to  seize  that  opportunity,  how  unequal  soever  you  may  feel  to 
the  undertaking.  And  now  farewell ! and  may  ‘ the  peace  of  God, 
which  passeth  all  understanding,  keep  your  hearts  and  minds, 
through  Christ  Jesus.’  ” 

“ Oh!  continue  to  pray  for  us,  my  dear,  dear  sir!”  exclaimed 
the  weeping  girls,  as  they  kissed  the  hand  of  the  venerable  man, 
which  was  kindly  extended  to  bless  them.  Tears  of  inexpressible 
emotion  stood  in  the  eyes  of  Mrs.  Morton  She  pressed  her 
young  friends  to  her  bosom,  and  with  difficulty  articulated — 
“ Farewell ! may  the  Lord  bless  you ! write  to  me  often,  and 
1 Watch  and  pray,  that  you  enter  not  into  temptation !’  ” 

They  parted  without  another  word.  Caroline  threw  herself 
back  in  the  carriage,  and  sobbed  with  all  the  violence  of  unre- 
strained emotion.  Emily  covered  her  face  with  her  hand,  and 
found  relief  to  her  feelings  in  mental  prayer.  Thus  they  arrived 
at  their  respective  homes,  in  sad  and  almost  uninterrupted 
silence. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A ROMAN  CATHOLIC  SCHOOL. 

In  vain  do  they  worship  me,  teaching  for  doctrines  the  commandments  of 
men. — Mark  vii.  7. 

The  next  day,  on  which  they  were  to  set  out,  was  one  of  great 
bustle  and  preparation  An  unaccountable  weight  of  dejection 
oppressed  the  mind  of  Emily;  and  a gloomy  presentiment  of,  she 
knew  not  what,  evil  seemed  to  hover  on  the  horizon  of  her  future 
life.  She  had  bidden  her  mother-in-law  farewell ; had  cast  a part- 
ing look  at  the  scenes  of  her  childhood ; and,  with  her  father, 
who  was  to  accompany  them  to  France,  had  repaired  to  her 
uncle’s  house,  where  they  were  to  take  up  Caroline.  Here  she 
threw  herself  into  a chair,  scarcely  able  to  control  her  feelings ; 
but  Caroline  perceived  her  agitation,  and,  going  up  to  the  piano- 
forte, struck  a few  notes  of  the  chorus  of  a hymn  they  had,  a few 
days  before,  been  practising  together. 

‘ Hallelujah  ! hallelujah ! hallelujah ! 

We  are  on  our  way  to  God.’ 


20 


A ROMAN  CATHOLIC  SCHOOL. 


The  tremulous,  but  triumphant  chords,  started  Emily  from  her 
painful  reverie.  She  felt  ashamed  of  her  dejection,  and  accused 
herself  of  want  of  faith  in  the  promises  of  God.  She  recollected 
an  observation  she  had  lately  read, — that  when  Elisha  had  lost 
the  advantage  of  Elijah’s  instruction  and  guidance,  he  did  not  sit 
down  in  despondency,  or  mournfully  inquire,  where  is  Elijah,  “ my 
friend,  my  father,  my  guide  ?”  But  he  took  the  prophet’s  mantle, 
and  smote  the  waves  of  Jordan,  exclaiming,  “ Where  is  the  Lord 
God  of  Elijah  V*  “ It  is  true,”  thought  she,  “ that  I am  about  to 
lose,  for  a time,  many  of  the  outward  privileges  with  which  I 
have  been  favored  ; that  I shall  be,  in  a great  measure,  deprived 
of  the  blessings  of  Christian  advice,  encouragement,  and  com- 
munion ; but  I am  not  deprived  of  access  to  ‘ the  God  of  all 
grace.’  I am  cut  off  from  the  streams,  but  I can  still  drink  at  the 
Fountain-head  of  all  spiritual  blessings.”  Her  mind  was  cheered 
by  this  reflection ; she  thought  of  the  Saviour’s  kind  reproof  to 
Peter — “ O thou  of  little  faith,  wherefore  didst  thou  doubt'?”  and 
her  heart  tremblingly  replied,  “ Lord,  I believe  ; help  thou  mine 
unbelief!” 

The  momentary  feelings  of  enthusiasm  which  had  animated 
the  mind  of  Caroline,  at  sight  of  the  words  which  so  forcibly  re- 
called the  glorious  end  of  the  Christian’s  pilgrimage,  had  now 
given  place  to  the  sorrow  of  parting  from  her  family.  But  it 
would  be  superfluous  to  describe  a scene  which  every  affectionate 
daughter  will  readily  imagine.  A few  moments  of  uncontrolled 
emotion,  and  she  was  seated  in  the  carriage,  between  her  uncle 
and  cousin,  and  borne  rapidly  away  from  the  scenes  of  her  child- 
hood. At  the  nearest  sea-port  they  embarked,  and  after  a favor- 
able, and,  on  the  whole,  pleasant  voyage,  safely  arrived  on  the 
Gallic  shore.  Here  the  novelty  of  the  scenes  they  witnessed,  and 
the  variety  of  incidents  connected  with  travelling,  greatly  amused 
the  two  cousins,  and  made  them  disregard  the  total  wTant  of  com- 
fortable accommodations,  which  every  English  person  must  ex- 
perience while  passing  through  that  otherwise  delightful  country. 
At  length  they  reached  the  place  of  their  destination,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  the  house  of  Madame  d’Elfort. 

This  was  a highly  respectable  establishment,  and  the  strangers 
were  received  with  marked  attention.  After  waiting  a short 
time,  they  were  introduced  to  the  principal,  and  were  much  struck 
with  her  appearance.  She  was  a tall  majestic  woman,  with  an 
imposing  aspect,  and  elegant  address.  There  was  something  so 
superior  in  her  air,  that  it  might  well  awe  the  young  and  timid 
strangers ; but  there  was  also  a kindness  in  her  manner,  which 
could  hardly  fail  of  inspiring  affection.  Upright  and  conscientious 
in  her  principles,  firm  and  undeviating  in  her  conduct,  her  char- 
acter commanded  general  esteem.  She  was  endowed  with  con- 
siderable talents,  and  peculiarly  fitted  by  nature  for  the  manage- 


A ROMAN  CATHOLIC  SCHOOL. 


21 


ment  of  a school.  Strict  even  to  excess,  in  enforcing  a constant 
observance  of  every  rule:  inflexibly  just  in  the  punishment  of 
offences,  yet  not  less  kind  and  liberal  in  rewarding  whatever  she 
thought  praiseworthy ; anxious  for  the  improvement  of  her  pupils, 
and  wholly  devoted  to  the  performance  of  her  duties,  she  inspired 
the  most  profound  respect,  and  exacted  implicit  obedience.  Yet  she 
knew  how  to  unbend  from  the  loftiness  of  her  manner,  without 
descending  from  her  proper  dignity ; and  there  was  a fascination 
in  her  kindness,  which  few  young  hearts  were  ever  able  to  resist. 

The  establishment  was  very  numerous,  and  consisted  of  both 
French  and  English  boarders.  To  these  she  was  equally  just, 
and  observed  the  most  uniform  impartiality  of  conduct.  Herself 
a Roman  Catholic,  and  perhaps  one  of  the  most  devoted  to  her 
system  of  religion,  she  exacted  from  her  French  pupils  the  strict- 
est performance  of  every  rite  commanded  by  their  church ; and 
offences  of  a religious  character  were  always  those  which  she 
punished  with  the  greatest  severity.  She  was  zealous  in  pro- 
moting everything  which  could  make  Popery  appear  to  her 
Protestant  pupils  in  a favorable  light ; but,  as  she  had  pledged 
herself  not  to  interfere  with  their  opinions,  she  scrupulously 
avoided  every  intentional  breach  of  that  engagement. 

A tolerably  good  understanding  subsisted  in  the  house,  between 
the  pupils  of  both  denominations.  Immediate  expulsion  was  the 
penalty  denounced  against  any  attempt  at  controversy,  and  the 
subject  of  religion  was  therefore  rarely  introduced  among  them. 
The  Protestants  were  allowed  to  attend  the  English  chapel  every 
Sunday  morning,  and  to  retire  for  a short  time  in  the  afternoon, 
for  the  purpose  of  reading  the  evening  church  service. 

These  particulars  Mr.  Mortimer  ascertained,  before  he  left  his 
daughter  and  niece ; as  also  that  there  was  an  English  teacher 
resident  in  the  house.  Emily  and  Caroline  were  to  have  the 
privilege  of  a private  bed-room,  and  to  be  allowed  more  liberty 
than  the  generality  of  their  companions  : in  short  they  were  to  be 
what  were  called  in  the  establishment  grandes  pensionnaires, — a 
term  not  exactly  answering  to  the  English  idea  of  parlor-board- 
ers, but  somewhat  analogous  to  it. 

Mr.  Mortimer  then  took  his  leave,  and,  bidding  his  daughter  and 
niece  an  affectionate  farewell,  embarked  the  next  morning  on  his 
return  to  England.  The  cousins  shed  many  tears,  on  finding  them- 
selves thus  left  entirely  among  strangers ; and  Caroline,  in  particu- 
lar, yielded  to  an  excess  of  feeling  which  compelled  Emily  to  exert 
herself,  in  order  to  comfort  her.  Their  attention,  however,  was 
soon  absorbed  by  the  new  scenes  that  surrounded  them,  and  the 
necessity  of  conforming  to  rules  of  which,  ks  yet,  they  knew 
nothing. 

Jt  was,  indeed,  a new  world  into  which  they  were  introduced, 
and  one  in  which  everything  was  widely  different  from  all  they 


Z2 


A ROMAN  CATHOLIC  SCHOOL. 


had  ever  known.  They  had  been  accustomed  to  a system  of  edu- 
cation,  frequently  varied  by  recreation,  by  amusement,  and  by 
every  little  indulgence  that  could  render  it  agreeable,  relieve  its 
unavoidable  monotony,  and  prevent  it  from  appearing  burden- 
some. But  here  education  was  indeed  a toil,  and  frequently  so 
laborious  as  to  become  truly  insupportable,  and  even  prejudicial 
to  health.  Constantly  employed,  from  live  or  six  in  the  morning 
till  eight  at  night,  with  only  one  hour  of  relaxation  during  the 
day,  and  not  unfrequently  compelled  to  devote  even  that  hour  to 
study,  the  pupils  looked  forward  with  impatience  to  the  time  of 
their  leaving  school ; as  the  slave  would  to  the  period  of  his  final 
emancipation. 

Those  who  were  gifted  with  good  abilities  had,  indeed,  less 
difficulty  in  fulfilling  their  arduous  duties ; but  lessons  of  thirty 
or  forty  pages  of  history,  and  from  ten  to  twenty  of  geography,  to 
be  committed  to  memory,  besides  numberless  other  school-tasks, 
were  certainly  very  formidable.  Every  personal  consideration 
must  be  sacrificed  to  these  absorbing  studies,  and  even  the  neces- 
sary hours  of  sleep  were  often  unavoidably  encroached  upon. 
And,  to  add  to  these  discomforts,  the  poor  girls  were  as  constantly 
and  closely  watched  as  prisoners  of  state,  and  enjoyed  none  of 
those  comforts  which,  to  the  natives  of  England,  have  become 
absolute  necessaries. 

Emily  and  Caroline  suffered  much  at  first,  from  the  various  ob- 
stacles which  obstructed  their  progress,  but  they  had  received 
from  the  hands  of  their  Creator  abilities  of  no  mean  description  ; 
and,  as  they  felt  the  necessity  of  diligent  application,  these  diffi- 
culties vanished  by  degrees,  especially  as  they  had  few  studies  to 
begin  entirely,  and  had  already  attained  some  degree  of  proficiency 
in  most  of  the  others.  They  were  besides,  as  grandes  pensionnaires , 
entitled  to  many  advantages  which  their  less  fortunate  compa 
nions  did  not  possess. 

One  of  these  privileges  was,  the  liberty  of  absenting  themselves 
from  morning  prayers  ; — a circumstance  which  they  found  pecu- 
liarly agreeable  ; for,  although  the  French  boarders  were  obliged 
to  attend  mass  before  breakfast,  and  the  Protestant  pupils  alone 
remained,  yet  they  were  not  allowed  to  use  a Protestant  form,  but 
were  compelled  to  kneel  round  a French  teacher,  who  read  aloud 
a string  of  Roman  Catholic  prayers.  These  were  partly  in  Latin, 
and  altogether  such  as  no  conscientious  Protestant  could  join  in. 
This  abuse  of  authority  was  repeated  in  the  evening,  and  then  no 
one  was  allowed  to  be  absent,  unless  from  illness. 

This  last  service  consisted  of  a number  of  short  prayers,  very 
few  of  which  were  addressed  to  God,  and  by  far  the  greater  part 
were  not  only  unscriptural,  but  even  blasphemous.  It  was  some 
days  before  Emily  and  Caroline  could  understand  them,  for  they 
were  repeated  with  a rapidity  which  it  was  difficult  to  follow ; 


A ROMAN  CATHOLIC  SCHOOL. 


28 


but,  when  once  understood,  they  appeared  sufficiently  shocking. 
They  were,  indeed,  begun  and  ended  in  the  name  of  the  adorable 
Trinity ; but,  not  being  presented  through  the  intercession  of  the 
Redeemer,  nor  offered  through  His  merits,  they  could  not  be  ac- 
ceptable to  Him  who  has  so  repeatedly  commanded  us  to  ask 
everything  “in  his  name.”  That  blessed  Saviour’s  name  was 
scarcely  used  at  all,  in  its  proper  sense ; and  his  dignity,  his  char- 
acter, and  his  work,  were  openly  insulted. 

There  was  a confession  of  sins,  addressed  to  “ God  Almighty, 
to  the  blessed  Mary,  always  a virgin,  to  St.  Michael  the  Arch- 
angel, St.  John  the  Baptist,  St.  Peter,  St.  Paul,  and  all  the  saints 
and  this  was  followed  by  the  request,  that  the  aforesaid  saint3 
would  “ pray  for  them  to  the  Lord  their  God.”  Emily  and  Caro- 
line shuddered,  as,  kneeling  with  the  others  before  a crucifix,  they 
were  compelled  to  hear  this  Antichristian  invocation.  The  former 
thought  of  that  explicit  declaration  of  scripture,  “ There  is  one 
Mediator  between  God  and  men,  the  man  Christ  Jesus  and 
she  felt  how  awfully  derogatory  to  his  dignity,  and  offensive  to 
his  character,  such  supplications  must  be. 

The  next  thing  that  excited  her  particular  notice  was  a short 
prayer,  followed  by  the  130th  Psalm  in  Latin,  “ for  the  souls  of 
the  deceased  faithful  in  purgatory ; that  God  would  grant  them 
the  forgiveness  of  their  sins,  and  that  they  might  soon  enjoy  that 
glory  which  he  had  destined  for  them  in  heaven.”  Emily  was 
extremely  shocked  at  this  petition  ; for,  besides  its  having  no  foun- 
dation whatever  in  Scripture,  and  being  decidedly  contrary  to  the 
express  declarations  of  God,  it  was  another  insult  to  the  perfect 
and  finished  work  of  the  Redeemer.  After  this  came  a number  of 
short  prayers,  addressed  to  St.  Joseph,  and  several  others  ; then  one 
to  the  different  saints  whose  name  each  person  present  bore,  and 
another  to  each  one’s  guardian  angel.  This  last,  in  particular, 
was  a masterpiece  of  blasphemy.  It  was  in  the  following  terms  ; 

“ O holy  angel,  whom  God  has  entrusted  with  the  charge  of  my 
conduct,  I thank  you  for  your  kind  attention,  and  entreat  you  to 
continue  it.  Assist  me  always  in  my  necessities  ; console  me  in 
my  afflictions ; keep  me  from  all  occasions  of  sin  ; protect  me  es- 
pecially at  the  hour  of  death ; and  conduct  me  to  the  kingdom  of 
eternal  glory.” 

“ Where,  then,”  thought  Emily,  “ where  is  the  necessity  ot 
prayer  to  God,  if  a created  being,  an  angel,  can  do  all  this  for  us 
That  awful  moment  immediately  occurred  to  her  mind,  when  the 
disembodied  spirit  is  called  to  appear  before  its  Judge,  and  when, 
if  not  clothed  in  the  wedding-garment  of  the  Redeemer’s  right- 
eousness, and  accepted  through  his  blood,  it  must  be  “ cast  into 
outer  darkness.”  She  remembered  th.e  startling  question  of  Job, 
“ to  which  of  the  saints  wilt  thou  turn  V9  and  again  shuddered,  as 
her  fancy  portrayed  the  horrors  of  that  dreadful  instant,  when,  if 


24 


A ROMAN  CATHOLIC  SCHOOL. 


not  renounced  before,  those  “refuges  of  lies”  would  be  so  fearfully 
“ swept  away”  by  the  justice  of  an  offended  God,  and  the  righteous 
indignation  of  a long-slighted,  and  grossly-insulted  Saviour. 

To  complete  this  catalogue  of  Popish  prayers,  there  was  a long 
litany  introduced,  the  first  two  or  three  petitions  of  which  were 
addressed  to  Christ,  and  all  the  rest  to  the  Virgin.  If  anything 
could  surpass  the  blasphemous  nature  of  the  preceding  prayers, 
this  was  admirably  calculated  to  put  the  finishing  stroke  to  the 
picture.  The  mother  of  Jesus  was  there  addressed  by  several  of 
those  titles  which  can  belong  to  none  but  himself.  She  was  not 
only  called  the  “ mother  of  the  Creator,  mother  of  divine  grace, 
queen  of  heaven,  of  angels,  patriarchs,  prophets,  apostles,  martyrs, 
confessors,  and  of  all  the  saints,”  but  also  the  “ mystical  rose,”  the 
“ ark  of  the  covenant,”  the  “'morning  star,”  the  “ comforter  of  the 
afflicted,”  the  “ health  of  the  infirm,”  the  “ help  of  Christians,”  the 
“refuge  of  sinners,”  and  the  “doorof  heaven!”  The  ef- 
fect which  these  misapplied  appellations  produced  upon  Emily’s 
mind  was  so  painful ; there  was  such  a feeling  of  horror  connect- 
ed with  the  idea  of  their  shocking  falsehood,  that  she  became  cold 
and  faint  on  hearing  them  for  the  first  time,  and  immediately 
stopped  her  ears.  This  was  an  expedient  to  which  she  often  felt 
it  necessary  to  have  recourse  afterwards  ; and  she  found  that  it 
was  very  generally  adopted  by  the  English  girls,  in  order  that 
they  might  be  able  mentally  to  repeat  their  own  prayers  while 
they  thus  knelt,  as  it  was  the  only  time  allowed  them  for  tha< 
purpose. 

Emily  had  read  much  on  the  subject  of  Roman  Catholic  errors, 
and  was  still  more  convinced,  from  the  perusal  of  her  Bible,  that 
the  Romish  church  was  one  which  had  widely  departed  from  the 
truth.  But  this  conviction  was  daily  strengthened  by  everything 
she  saw  and  heard,  and  she  felt  it  her  duty  to  pray  earnestly  for 
the  benighted  souls  around  her.  She  sought  among  the  French 
boarders  for  some  indications  of  real  piety ; for  she  knew  that, 
although  “ the  glory  was  departed”  from  their  once  pure  and  scrip- 
tural church,  it  still  retained  some  of  those  truths  which  God  has 
appointed  as  the  means  of  salvation.  She,  therefore,  hoped  that 
among  its  dead  leaves  and  withered  branches,  she  might  yet  find 
some  beautiful,  though  perhaps  sickly,  blossom  of  piety ; some 
humble  and  sincere  believer,  whose  mind,  though  clouded  by 
error  and  superstition,  might  yet  be  so  far  enlightened  by  the 
Spirit  of  God,  as  to  feel  its  need  of  a Saviour,  and  to  cling  with 
weak,  but  saving  faith,  to  the  gracious  promises  of  the  gospel. 
But,  alas ! she  sought  long  in  vain.  Though  many  of  the  French 
pupils  had  attained  the  age  of  eighteen  or  nineteen,  and  some  of 
them  were  considered  exceedingly  devout,  she  could  not  recognize 
in  them  any  of  those  features  which  so  distinctly  mark  the  real 
child  of  God, — any  of  those  beautiful  “ fruits  of  the  Spirit,”  which 


THE  INFLUENCE  OF  ERROR. 


25 


invariably  adorn  the  renewed  mind  of  a Christian.  A strict  atten- 
tion to  forms,  and  unmeaning  ceremonies,  was  all  they  considered 
necessary  to  their  eternal  salvation  ; and  their  hearts  were  wholly 
engrossed  by  dress,  amusement,  and  worldly  vanities. 

Disappointed  in  this  part  of  her  search,  she  turned  to  her 
English  companions,  but  her  expectations  were  equally  crushed, 
on  observing  their  characters  and  conduct.  Some  of  these  young 
ladies  were  extremely  interesting  in  their  appearance  ; but  all  were 
vain,  worldly-minded,  and  thoughtless.  They  prided  themselves 
on  being  free  from  the  shackles  of  Popish  superstition  ; but  had 
they  been  requested  to  give  one  solid  or  scriptural  reason  for  their 
difference  in  religion,  it  is  very  doubtful  whether  they  could  have 
returned  anything  like  a satisfactory  answer.  They  had  been 
brought  up  as  Protestants,  and  taught  to  despise  the  Roman 
Catholics  for  their  superstition  and  image-worship  ; but  they  knew 
nothing  of  those  doctrines  which  they  thus  pretended  to  reject, 
nor  anything  of  that  scriptural  authority  on  which  the  Protestant 
church  founds  her  purer  system.  They  would  have  scorned  the 
idea  of  danger,  from  the  influence  of  Popish  society  or  doctrines  ; 
yet  they  were  everywhere  surrounded  by  snares,  which  it  was 
almost  impossible  for  them  completely  to  escape. 

Such  was  the  aspect  of  the  school  where  Emily  and  Caroline 
were  to  spend  at  least  one  year.  Their  hearts  sickened  as  they 
contemplated  it  ; but  Emily  recollected  Mr.  Morton’s  words,  and 
prayed  that  some  opportunity  might  be  vouchsafed  them  of  glori 
tying  their  Saviour,  by  being  useful  to  those  around  them. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


THE  INFLUENCE  OF  ERROR. 

Full  well  ye  reject  the  commandment  of  God,  that  ye  may  keep  your  own 
tradition. — Mark  vii.  9. 

The  principles  of  young  persons  cannot  be  supposed  to  be  very 
firmly  fixed  at  the  age  of  fourteen  or  sixteen ; on  the  contrary,  it 
is  at  that  period  that  they  most  need  the  aid  of  judicious  instruc- 
tion, and  the  kind  hand  of  enlightened  piety,  to  direct  their  judg- 
ment, and  guide  them  in  the  paths  of  wisdom.  Yet  it  is  generally 
3 


26 


THE  INFLUENCE  OF  ERROR. 


about  that  age  that  English  parents  send  their  children  to  France 
— send  them  into  the  midst  of  temptation  and  peril,  without  a 
single  friend  to  watch  over  their  conduct.  They  may  not,  indeed, 
be  personally  addressed  on  the  subject  of  religion,  nor  may  the 
least  trouble  be  taken  to  pervert  their  minds ; but  there  is  a silent , 
yet  certain , influence  in  the  scenes  around  them,  which  will  almost 
infallibly  sap  the  foundations  of  a Protestant  education.  It  is  not 
from  the  most  obvious  errors  of  the  Romish  church  that  the  great- 
est danger  is  to  be  apprehended,  for  these  are  easily  detected,  and 
not  so  likely  to  impose  on  a well-informed  mind.  But  it  is  from 
the  dangerous  notions  of  human  merit ; of  justification  by  works  ; 
of  the  possibility  of  deserving  heaven  ; of  the  supposed  distinction 
between  venial  and  mortal  sins,  and  a number  of  other  errors  equally 
pernicious  ; together  with  the  profanation  of  the  Sabbath,  the  dis- 
regard of  the  Bible,  and  the  constant  trifling  with  the  name  of 
God,  which  are  so  awfully  common  among  the  Roman  Catholics ; 
it  is  from  these  that  everything  should  be  feared,  for  a young  and 
thoughtless  girl,  whose  mind  is  naturally  fond  of  novelty,  and  as 
naturally  averse  to  everything  spiritual ; who  seldom  takes  the 
trouble  to  examine  for  herself,  or  to  try  an  opinion  by  the  only  in- 
fallible test  of  truth  5 who  speedily  adopts  the  sentiments  and  man- 
ners of  those  with  whom  she  associates,  and  is  easily  dazzled  by 
the  splendor  of  outward  ceremonies. 

Emily  was  strongly  impressed  with  this  conviction,  by  observ- 
ing the  different  incidents  which  daily  fell  under  her  notice.  No 
attempts  whatever  were  made  to  warp  the  minds  of  the  Protest- 
ant pupils ; yet  that  secret  and  irresistible  influence  of  example 
did  not  fail  to  manifest  itself.  She  soon  had  many  occasions  of 
combating  Roman  Catholic  notions,  in  the  minds  of  professed 
Protestants ; and  almost  every  day  she  heard  them  make  use  of 
Roman  Catholic  expressions. 

The  English  girls  were  sitting  together  one  Sunday  evening 
after  prayers,  when  Emily  observed  a conversation  which  appear- 
ed rather  animated.  Anna  Lushington,  a tall,  elegant  girl  of  six- 
teen, who  had  been  particularly  attentive  to  the  new  boarders  on 
their  arrival,  was  reprimanding  her  younger  sister  for  having  told 
her  a falsehood. 

“ Indeed,  Maria,”  said  she,  “ it  was  very  wicked  to  say  so  ; and 
do  you  not  know,  you  little  naughty  girl,  that  telling  falsehoods  is 
one  of  the  seven  deadly  sins  V\ 

Maria  tossed  her  little  head,  in  token  of  contempt ; and  Anna 
appealed  to  Emily  for  a confirmation  of  what  she  had  said. 

“ It  is  indeed  true,”  said  the  latter,  “ that  falsehood  is  a very 
great  sin  ; for  the  Bible  says  that  ‘ lying  lips  are  an  abomination 
to  the  Lord,’  and  that  ‘all  liars  shall  have  their  part  in  the  lake 
that  burnetii  with  fire  and  brimstone but  I don’t  know  what  you 
mean,  dear  Anna,  by  ‘ the  seven  deadly  sins,’  I think  that  all  sin  is 


THE  INFLUENCE  OF  ERROR.  27 

hateful  to  God,  as  contrary  to  his  nature,  and  a transgression  of 
his  laws,  and  therefore  deserving  of  eternal  condemnation.” 

“ Dear  me ! what  singular  notions  you  have,  my  dear  Miss 
Mortimer!”  exclaimed  Anna,  with  astonishment.  “Whac!  do 
you  then  suppose  that  those  little  trifling  sins  which  we  commit 
every  day,  are  as  bad  as  robbery,  drunkenness  or  murder,  or  that 
they  will  be  punished  with  the  same  severity 
“ They  are  not,  indeed,  so  dreadful  in  their  effects  upon  society,” 
replied  Emily,  modestly ; “ but  in  the  sight  of  a holy  God  they 
are  equally  criminal,  as  they  proceed  from  that  same  ‘carnal 
mind,  which  is  enmity  against  him.’  The  Bible  tells  us  that  God 
is  ‘of  purer  eyes  than  to  behold  sin,  and  cannot  look  upon  ini- 
quity and  that  same  God  declares  that  ‘ the  soul  that  sinneth 
shall  die.’  And  allow  me  to  tell  you,  Miss  Lushington,  that  if 
the  Bible  speaks  of  no  difference  between  venial  and  mortal  sins, 
neither  does  the  Protestant  religion  admit  of  any  such  distinction ; 
and  that  I am  surprised  to  hear  a Roman  Catholic  error  from  the 
mouth  of  a Protestant.”  • 

“ But  I did  not  know  that  it  was  peculiar  to  the  Catholics,” 
said  Anna,  playing  with  the  ringlets  of  her  beautiful  hair,  to  con- 
ceal the  blush  which  slightly  tinged  her  fine  countenance.  This 
conversation  had  attracted  the  attention  of  several  other  girls,  and 
Fanny  Gordon,  a young  lady  who,  from  her  uncommon  abilities, 
was  frequently  called  the  phoenix  of  the  school,  immediately  ob- 
served, that  “ she  thought  Miss  Mortimer  had  a great  dislike  to 
the  Catholics,  as  she  was  always  saying  something  against  their 
mode  of  worship.” 

“ It  is  not  so  much  their  ceremonies  that  I have  objected  to,  my 
dear  Miss  Gordon,  as  their  doctrines  and  principles.  Yet  I am  con- 
vinced, from  the  word  of  God,  that  their  mode  of  worship  is  not 
less  objectionable;  and  certainly  nothing  can  be  more  unscrip- 
tural  than  some  of  those  ceremonies.  I need  only  mention  the 
invocation  of  saints,  and  the  worship  of  images,  to  prove  the  truth 
of  my  assertion ; but  I hope  I have  no  dislike  whatever  to  the 
Roman  Catholics,  as  individuals.” 

“ There,  now  see  how  uncharitable  you  are  in  your  judgment, 
when  you  talk  of  their  praying  to  the  saints  ! I assure  you  they 
only  do  so  to  request  the  benefit  of  their  prayers  in  heaven  ; and, 
as  one  of  the  teachers  was  saying  to  the  French  girls  the  other 
day,  if  we  do  not  scruple  to  ask  a friend  on  earth  to  pray  for  us, 
why  should  we  not,  with  much  more  reason,  entreat  the  prayers 
of  our  friends  in  heaven  ?” 

Emily  was  surprised  to  hear  this  artful  sophistry,  fro  m the  lips 
of  an  English  girl ; but  she  replied,  without  hesitation,  “ if  we  ad- 
mit that  idea.  Miss  Gordon,  we  must  believe  that  deceased  saints 
are  gifted  with  Omniscience,  in  order  to  hear  and  answer  the 
petitions  which  are  presented  to  them  from  so  many  different 


THE  INFLUENCE  OF  ERROft. 

places  at  once ; yet  that  is  an  attribute  which  certaiilly  belorigs 
t * God  alone.  But  it  is  to  the  Bible  we  should  look  for  the  truth 
c r falsehood  of  every  doctrine ; and  though  that  blessed  book  com- 
1 lands  living  Christians  to 4 pray  for  one  another,’  it  nowhere  gives 
1 tie  least  countenance  to  praying  to  departed  saints.  On  the  con- 
1 /ary,  it  asserts  that  there  is  but  ‘ one  Mediator  between  God  and 
»|ien,the  man  Christ  Jesus:’ and  surely,  when  the  Son  of  God 
limaelf  condescends  to  be  our  intercessor,  it  is  offering  the  great- 
,st  insult  to  his  character,  his  dignity,  and  his  love,  to  seek  for 
rther  mediators,  as  if  he  were  not  sufficient.” 

The  glow  of  animation  had  crimsoned  the  usually  pale  cheek 
>f  Emily  as  she  uttered  these  words ; and  Fanny  Gordon  felt 
rather  confused,  and  did  not  know  what  to  answer.  At  length, 
however,  she  resumed  the  conversation}  by  observing  that,  at  all 
events,  Miss  Mortimer  was  very  severe,  when  she  accused  the 
Catholics  of  worshipping  images.  “ I asked  Mademoiselle  Laval 
yesterday,”  said  she,  “ if  it  was  true  that  they  worshipped  them ; 
and  she  assured  me  it  was  quite  a mistake,  and  that  they  only 
knelt  before  pictures  and  images,  as  a mark  of  reverence  to  the 
persons  they  represented.” 

44  Ah!  Miss  Gordon,”  replied  Emily,  “it  is  a sad  sign  of  a bad 
cause,  when  we  are  ashamed  to  own  the  truth.  "Wherefore,  then, 
do  they  kneel  to  them  ? What  more  unequivocal  mark  of  adora- 
tion can  we  possibly  show  to  an  object,  than  the  action  of  kneel- 
ing to  it  ? Do  you  not  remember  how  awfully  the  Israelites  were 
punished  by  God,  for  their  image-worship 

“Yes ; but  they  worshipped  those  images,  and  the  Catholics 
only  look  upon  them  as  representations  ” 

“Well,  granting  they  only  do  so  (which,  however,  is  very 
doubtful)  I do  not  think  the  Israelites  did  any  more : when  they 
made  the  calf  in  Horeb,  they  had  but  very  recently  seen  a visible 
manifestation  of  the  glorious  presence  of  God ; we  cannot  sup- 
pose that,  after  such  an  event,  they  could  be  so  devoid  of  common 
sense  as  to  believe  that  the  golden  calf  they  made  was  the  same 
great  and  awful  God  ; it  must  have  been  as  a representation  of  him 
that  they  worshipped  the  molten  image  5 and  their  crime  was, 
therefore,  precisely  the  same  as  the  Roman  Catholics  are  guilty 
of.  Besides,  the  second  commandment  expressly  forbids  all  such 
marks  of  reverence  to  images ; and  the  Roman  Catholics  are  so 
conscious  of  this,  that  they  have  excluded  that  commandment 
from  the  decalogue,  and  divided  another  into  two,  in  order  to  com- 
plete the  number.  Is  not  this  sufficient  to  stamp  the  character  of  re- 
probation on  a church  which  takes  such  unwarrantable  liberties  V* 
;c  But  I tell  you,  Miss  Mortimer,”  retorted  Miss  Gordon,  coloring 
with  offended  pride,  “ that  the  Catholics  disavow  the  worship  of 
images  or  saints;  and  I think  they  ought  to  know  their  own  reli 
gion  best.” 


THE  INFLUENCE  OF  ERROR. 


29 


“My  dear  Miss  Gordon,”  replied  Emily,  mildly  but  firmly,  “ I 
am  extremely  sorry  to  see  you  thus  allow  yourself  to  be  deceived 
by  this  sophistry : but,  whatever  may  be  the  real  intention  of  the 
custom  we  have  just  been  speaking  of,  it  is  a circumstance  worthy 
of  our  most  serious  consideration,  that  the  second  commandment 
not  only  forbids  the  avowed  worship  of  images,  but  explicitly  adds 
also, — 1 Thou  shalt  not  bow  down  to  them  !’  ” 

Several  of  the  young  ladies  seemed  struck  with  this  observa 
tion  • but  Miss  Gordon  was  so  much  displeased  at  having  been 
thus  opposed,  that  she  haughtily  left  the  room,  muttering  very 
angrily  some  remarks  about  bigotry  and  uncharitableness. 

It  was  not  that  this  young  lady  had  any  particular  predilection 
for  the  religion  she  thus  warmly  advocated  ; but  she  valued  her- 
self on  that  false  liberality  of  sentiment  which  considers  all  re- 
ligions as  in  themselves  alike ; and,  having  once  taken  up  the 
cause,  her  pride  would  not  suffer  her  to  drop  it,  nor  could  her 
haughty  spirit  brook  the  idea  of  being  contradicted  and  put  to 
silence.  Emily  regretted  the  altercation ; but  she  could  not  think 
of  disguising  her  sentiments. 

Another  point  on  which  she  felt  the  necessity  of  being  candid 
with  her  companions,  was  the  manner  of  spending  the  Sabbath. 
The  Roman  Catholics  considered  that  part  of  the  day  which  they 
devoted  to  public  worship,  as  the  only  time  that  ought  to  be  ob- 
served or  kept  sacred.  The  services  of  the  church  were  no  sooner 
over,  than  they  thought  themselves  at  liberty  to  spend  the  rest  of 
the  day  as  they  pleased ; walking  out,  playing,  singing,  and  danc- 
ing, were  their  usual  resources,  in  the  evening,  unless  they  had 
long  lessons  for  the  next  day,  and  then  they  would  learn  them 
instead  of  amusing  themselves.  Emily  was  shocked  at  this  awful 
profanation  of  the  sacred  day  by  the  Roman  Catholics,  but  still 
more  so,  when  she  saw  the  Protestants,  in  a great  measure,  follow 
their  example.  They  did  not,  indeed,  go  quite  to  the  same  lengths 
as  the  former ; hut  when  they  had  been  to  church  in  the  morning, 
and  read  prayers  together  in  the  afternoon,  they  did  not  scruple 
to  imitate  their  companions  in  buying  fruit,  cream,  or  pastry,  and 
spending  the  evening  in  play,  in  looking  on  the  sports  of  the 
others,  or  studying  their  usual  lessons  for  the  week. 

They  were  struck  with  astonishment  when  they  heard  Emily 
blame  their  conduct,  and  remonstrate  with  them  on  the  impro- 
priety and  sinfulness  of  these  customs.  Their  prejudices  were 
immediately  up  in  arms  against  this  troublesome  censor;  they 
loudly  declared  that  they  never  had  seen  such  a strangely  scrupu- 
lous and  gloomy  creature,  and  that  they  would  not  suffer  them- 
selves to  be  ruled  by  so  new  and  disagreeable  an  intruder.  It  was 
in  vain  that  she  disclaimed  the  least  intention  to  rule  or  dictate  ; 
in  vain  that  she  reasoned  with  them,  or  intreated  their  attention 
to  the  sacrndness  of  the  Sabbath  institution.  They  were  highly 


30 


THE  INFLUENCE  OF  ERROR. 


offended  at  her  endeavors,  and  turned  a deaf  ear  to  all  her  argu- 
ments. She  did  not,  however,  give  way  to  discouragement,  or 
allow  herself  to  be  deterred  from  doing  what  she  felt  to  be  right. 
She  earnestly  prayed  for  a blessing  on  her  endeavors,  and  renew- 
ed the  subject  whenever  she  found  a favorable  opportunity.  She 
spoke  seriously  on  the  sanctity  of  the  day,  and  the  necessity  and 
privilege  of  keeping  it  holy  to  the  Lord  ; she  used  every  means  to 
persuade  her  companions,  and  intreated  them,  at  least,  to  refrain 
from  those  glaring  breaches  of  the  fourth  commandment,  which 
are  so  highly  offensive  to  God,  and  so  dishonoring  to  the  pure  and 
scriptural  religion  they  professed.  In  thus  faithfully  performing 
a painful,  but  positive  duty,  she  frequently  met  with  much  oppo- 
sition from  those  she  wished  to  benefit;  but  the  God  on  whose 
strength  she  relied  did  not  leave  her  altogether  without  encour- 
agement and  success.  Some  of  the  young  ladies  at  length  yielded 
to  the  force  of  her  arguments,  and  others  to  her  pressing  entrea- 
ties ; the  rest  were  ashamed  to  purchase  on  the  Sunday,  when 
their  companions  abstained  from  doing  it ; and,  with  a few  occa- 
sional exceptions,  she  had,  after  some  time,  the  unspeakable  satis- 
faction of  seeing  them  gradually  abandon  this  wicked  custom. 
She  was  inexpressibly  grateful  to  Him  who  had  thus  deigned  to 
make  her  an  humble  instrument  of  restraining  one  breach  of  his 
commandments;  and,  though  the  motives  which  actuated  the 
young  ladies  in  this  instance  were  far  from  being  so  conscientious 
as  she  could  have  wished,  she  felt,  notwithstanding,  that  she  had 
much  reason  to  “ thank  God  and  take  courage.” 

It  was  not,  indeed,  an  easy  thing  for  a young  girl,  uninfluenced 
by  religious  principles,  to  resist  the  temptation  of  buying  fruit 
and  cream  on  the  Sabbath.  After  a long,  hot,  and  dusty  walk, 
when  they  returned  to  the  house,  fatigued,  exhausted,  and  per- 
haps tormented  with  thirst,  these  tempting  refreshments  were 
immediately  presented  to  their  view ; and  it  required  no  small 
degree  of  firmness  and  resolution,  to  see  the  others  indulging 
their  taste  for  these  dainties,  and  yet  withstand  the  delicious 
allurement.  Those  who  refused  to  buy  were  immediately  teazed 
by  the  others  offering  them  part  of  their  own  purchase,  and  press- 
ing them  with  the  greatest 'earnestness  to  accept  it.  Emily  and 
Caroline,  of  course,  never  were  prevailed  upon  to  do  so ; but  the 
others  often  found  it  impossible  to  escape  the  snare.  The  French 
girls  were  not  sparing  of  their  ridicule,  on  these  occasions,  when 
they  found  that  their  arguments  had  no  effect  on  Miss  Mortimer ; 
but  she  felt  grateful  that  she  was  so  far  honored  as  to  suffer  this 
slight  persecution  for  the  cause  of  truth,  and  continued  to  bear  a 
silent,  but  impressive,  testimony  against  these  sinful  customs  ; 
a testimony  which  was  not  entirely  without  effect  on  the  minds 
of  her  English  companions. 

The  strange  opinions  of  the  new  comers  excited  considerable 


THE  INFLUENCE  OF  ERROR. 


31 


attention  in  the  house  ; and  as  a boarding-schoo.  may  be  called  a 
miniature  of  the  world,  they  were  discussed  and  commented  on 
in  various  ways,  according  to  the  different  characters  who  took 
them  up.  Some  pitied  the  “ young  enthusiasts,”  as  they  called 
them,  for  their  gloomy  notions  ; others  blamed  and  railed  at  them, 
as  dangerous  fanatics.  By  far  the  greater  number  took  every 
opportunity  of  turning  their  principles  into  ridicule ; and  some 
were  sufficiently  malicious  to  devise  many  artful  plans,  for  over- 
coming their  resolution,  and  frustrating  their  wishes.  The  con- 
ductors of  the  establishment  were  not  uninterested  in  these  occur- 
rences. Madame  d’Elfort  and  the  teachers  attempted  to  argue 
with  Emily;  but,  unable  to  confute  her  reasons,  or  alter  her  de- 
termination, they  at  last  dropped  the  subject,  and,  by  Madame 
d’Elfort’s  orders,  the  English  were  allowed  to  act  as  they  pleased. 
“ Surely,”  said  that  lady  to  Emily,  as  they  were  one  day  convers- 
ing on  this  topic,  “ when  we  have  sanctified  the  Sunday  by  attend- 
ing to  all  the  observances  required  by  religion,  it  cannot  be  sinful 
to  amuse  ourselves,  or  purchase  those  things  which  are  so  neces- 
sary for  our  refreshment.” 

“ But,  madam,”  replied  her  pupil,  “ we  can  easily  do  without 
those  things,  or  we  can  procure  them  the  day  before.  Whether 
we  buy  provisions  or  refreshments,  an  apple,  or  an  article  of  dress, 
it  is  always  the  same  action  of  buying; — it  is  always  encouraging 
those  who  sell  in  transgressing  the  commandments  of  God.  Be- 
sides, if  the  practice  would  be  wrong  (as  you  allow  it  would) 
during  the  hours  of  public  worship,  it  must  be  equally  sinful  after- 
wards ; for  we  are  commanded  to  keep  the  Sabbath  day  holy,  and 
not  any  particular  part  of  it.” 

“ You  must  certainly  be  too  scrupulous,  even  for  your  religion,” 
observed  Madame  d’Elfort,  “for  I have  known  several  English 
persons,  who  were  considered  very  pious,  and  who  yet  had  no  hesi- 
tation in  buying  any  sort  of  refreshment  on  the  Sunday.  It  was  but 
a few  days  ago,  that  I mentioned  your  way  of  thinking  to  Miss 
Stanhope’s  mother,  who,  I believe,  is  a very  religious  woman ; and 
she  told  me,  that  she  had  no  objection  whatever  to  purchasing  as 
we  do.” 

“ Are  these  people  Protestants  V1  thought  Emily,  as  the  crimson 
of  indignation  mounted  to  her  cheek.  She  felt  that  it  might  be 
thought  unbecoming  in  a girl  of  her  age,  to  censure  those  whose 
years  and  experience  were  so  much  superior  to  her  own ; yet  she 
could  not  bear  to  leave  this  impression  on  the  mind  of  a Roman 
Catholic,  and  thought  she  ought  not  to  shrink  from  the  vindication 
of  truth,  even  at  the  risk  of  being  called  presumptuous.  She, 
therefore,  replied  modestly,  but  with  animation. 

“ Pardon  me,  my  dear  madam,  if  I seem  bold  in  speaking  so 
plainly.  Far  be  it  from  me  to  judge  the  characters  of  my  fellow- 
creatures  • but  you  must  allow  me  to  say,  that  those  are  certainly 


32 


THE  INFLUENCE  OF  ERROR. 


not  pious  who  so  flagrantly  transgress  the  injunctions  of  the  Bible, 
and  so  shamefully  disregard  the  precept*  of  their  religion.  They 
may  indeed  be  regular  in  the  performance  of  some  of  its  duties, 
ana  attentive  to  some  of  its  outward  forms ; but  the  voice  of  un- 
erring truth  condemns  their  conduct,  and  rejects  their  claim  to 
the  character  of  Christians.  The  Lord  Jesus  Christ  has  declared, 
‘ not  every  one  that  saith  unto  me  Lord ! Lord ! shall  enter  into 
the  kingdom  of  heaven,  but  he  that  doeth  the  will  of  my  Father 
which  is  in  heaven.’  ” 

Emily  was  much  agitated  as  she  pronounced  these  words  ; and 
Madame  d’Elfort  looked  surprised,  though  not  displeased.  She 
was  silent  for  a few  moments : then,  kissing  the  cheek  of  her 
pupil,  she  kindly  said,  “ Well,  my  dear  child,  I admire  and  respect 
your  sentiments,  though  I should  not  like  to  adopt  them.  How- 
ever, since  it  gives  you  pain  to  see  the  English  buy  anything  on  a 
Sunday,  I shall  not  encourage  them  to  do  it,  hut  leave  them  to 
make  their  own  decision.” 

“ Deplorable  infatuation !”  exclaimed  Emily  to  herself,  as  she 
pensively  bent  her  way  towards  her  own  room.  “ Whatever  the 
church  commands  must  be  observed  and  obeyed,  though  it  should 
be  expressly  contrary  to  the  commands  of  God  himself;  and  they 
openly  disobey  those  commandments,  because  the  church  sanctions 
their  doing  so ! However,  they  cannot  judge  of  his  will,  since 
they  are  not  allowed  to  read  the  Bible ; but  how  shall  those  an- 
swer for  their  conduct,  who  bear  the  name  of  Protestants,  and 
have  free  access  to  the  word  of  truth,  yet  thus  wilfully  disgrace 
their  profession,  and  knowingly  trample  on  the  gospel  V} 

This  was  not  a solitary  instance  of  the  dishonor  brought  upon 

religion,  by  the  conduct  of  the  English  residents  in  S and  its 

vicinity.  Emily  frequently  heard  the  most  painful  accounts  of 
them.  It  is  a melancholy  fact,  that  a great  number  of  those  who 
take  up  their  abode  in  France  abandon  their  religion  with  their 
country,  and  adopt  all  that  is  pernicious  in  French  customs  and 
manners.  Every  kind  of  folly  and  extravagance  is  but  too  com- 
mon among  them  ; and  even  those  who  maintain  a character  of 
probity,  and  decent  regularity,  generally  fall  into  the  sentiments 
and  habits  of  those  they  live  with.  The  most  awful  profanations 
of  the  Sabbath  are  constantly  practised  by  these  soi-disant  Pro- 
testants ; and  the  words  of  Christ  are  indeed  strikingly  applicable 
to  them — “ Why  call  ye  me  Lord,  Lord,  and  do  not  the  things 
which  I say  v> 


CHAPTER  V 


N£W  SCENES  AND  DANGERS. 

Watch  and  pray,  that  ye  enter  not  into  temptation. — M^tt.  xxvi.  41. 

Emily  was  particularly  shocked  one  evening,  by  a conversation 
which  took  place  in  her  presence,  between  Miss  Gordon  and  Miss 
Stanhope,  an  English  weekly  boarder,  on  the  latter’s  return  from 
a visit  to  her  family. 

“ And  do  you  know,  Fanny,”  said  Catharine  Stanhope,  after 
having  given  her  an  account  of  several  gay  parties  she  had  heard 
of,  “that  there  was  a ball  last  Sunday  at  the  Mayor’s  house  in  the 
country  ? The  Misses  Lloyd  were  there,  and  they  told  mamma 
it  was  very  brilliant,  and  that  they  kept  it  up  till  four  in  the 
morning.” 

“ The  Misses  Lloyd !”  exclaimed  Caroline  Howard,  with  sur~ 
prise  ; “ is  it  possible  that  English  Protestants  can  go  to  Sunday 
balls  r 

“ Why,  yes,  to  be  sure,”  replied  Catharine,  “ but  they  did  not 
dance,  you  know,  so  long  as  the  Sunday  lasted,  but  merely  sat 
and  looked  on  till  the  clock  struck  midnight,  and  then  they  got 
up,  and  danced  till  the  ball  broke  up.” 

“ For  my  part,”  observed  Anna  Lushington,  H I think  they  might 
as  well  have  danced  all  the  time,  as  looked  on ; for  their  heart 
was  as  much  in  it,  as  that  of  the  persons  who  were  dancing.” 

“ They  forgot,  no  doubt,”  said  Emily,  “ what  the  Bible  declares, 
that c God  is  not  mocked  ;’  or  rather,  perhaps,  they  never  read  the 
Bible  at  all.” 

“ La !”  exclaimed  Catharine,  “ there  was  nothing  very  strange 
in  their  going  to  the  ball ; but  you  have  such  odd  notions,  Miss 
Mortimer  and  Miss  Howard ! Why,  there  was  a grand  masque- 
rade the  other  Sunday,  at  Mr.  Sackville’s ; and  there  is  to  be  a 
ball  at  Mrs.  Dixon’s  next  Sunday  evening.” 

“ But  all  this  does  not  lessen  the  sin,  my  dear  Miss  Stanhope. 
The  curse  of  Sabbath-breaking  is  fearfully  hanging  over  those 
who  do  such  things ; and  it  is  a very  awful  truth,  that  while  the 
servant  who  knew  not  his  Lord’s  will,  and  did  commit  things 
worthy  of  stripes,  shall  be  beaten  with  few  stripes, — he  who  knew 
and  transgressed  that  will,  shall  be  beaten  with  many  stripes.” 

The  young  ladies  looked  at  each  other,  and  Catharine  and 
Fanny  exchanged  a smile  of  contempt.  The  conversation  ended 
here  ; but  Emily  long  reflected,  with  much  painM  feeling,  on  the 
conduct  by  which  the  Protestant  religion  was  thus  deeply  wound- 
ed, by  the  hands  of  its  pretended  friends. 

There  was  a spiritual  gloom  resting  on  every  object  around  her, 


34 


NEW  SCENES  AND  DANGERS. 


which  pressed  heavily  on  her  heart,  and  was  very  distressing.  It 
was  not  long,  however,  after  the  foregoing  conversation,  that  a 
bright  ray  of  heavenly  light  shed  its  sweet  influence  over  the 
scene.  She  had  looked  anxiously,  but  in  vain,  around  her,  for 
some  indications  of  seriousness  among  her  companions ; but  she 
now  found  that  the  fragrant  bud  of  youthful  piety  was  concealed 
in  a spot,  where  she  had  given  up  all  hopes  of  meeting  with  its 
lonely  beauty. 

In  order  to  acquire  that  facility  and  fluency  in  speaking  the 
language,  which  were  considered  so  necessary  to  complete  her 
education,  she  was  compelled  to  mix  as  much  as  possible  with 
French  society,  however  uncongenial  to  her  feelings.  She  was 
sitting  one  evening  at  a work-table,  which  was  surrounded  by 
French  girls,  and  where  Mademoiselle  Laval  was  reading  aloud 
Madame  de  Genlis’s  work,  entitled  “*Les  Veiltees  du  Chateau.” 
The  reading  was,  every  five  or  six  minutes,  interrupted  by  the 
observations  of  the  young  ladies,  who  expatiated,. with  that  volu- 
bility so  peculiar  to  their  nation,  on  the  incidents  of  the  tale,  and 
the  merits  of  its  different  characters.  The  personage  then  under 
review  was  a young  man  who  having  left  his  native  country  for 
the  purpose  of  travelling,  often  looked  back  with  longing  regret  to 
the  scene  of  his  former  enjoyments,  where  he  had  left  an  affec- 
tionate father,  and  a young  person*  to  whom  he  was  shortly  to  be 
united.  One  of  his  expressions  of  impatience,  to  see  again  this 
beloved  spot,  was  couched  in  language  so  pathetic,  and  pro- 
nounced by  the  teacher  with  a tone  of  such  ludicrous  sentimental- 
ity, that  the  whole  party,  with  two  or  three  exceptions,  were 
almost  convulsed  with  laughter.  This  merriment  continued  for 
some  time,  with  almost  unabated  gaiety,  till  one  of  the  young 
ladies  exclaimed,  addressing  another  who  sat  beside  her,  “ Well, 
really,  Rose  de  Liancourt,  I cannot  imagine  how  you  can  pre- 
serve such  a composed  gravity  of  countenance,  while  listening  to 
so  laughable  a subject.” 

“ Indeed,  to  tell  you  the  truth,”  replied  the  young  person  to 
whom  she  had  spoken,  “ I am  not  sufficiently  penetrating  to  dis- 
cover what  it  was  which  made  you  laugh  so  much,  nor  can  I see 
anything  ludicrous  in  the  earnest  wishes  expressed  by  a dutiful 
son,  to  see  again  the  land  where  he  has  left  a kind  and  indulgent 
parent.” 

At  this  observation,  the  bursts  of  laughter  were  renewed ; and 
the  artless  simplicity  of  Rose  became  the  subject  of  so  many  giddy 
remarks,  that  she  looked  quite  disconcerted.  Mademoiselle  Laval 
not  a little  increased  her  embarrassment,  by  exclaiming,  “ Upon 
my  word,  our  Rose  is  really  charming ! she  is  so  naive  and  un- 
suspecting, that  I verily  believe  she  has  not  even  the  least  idea  of 
any  other  sentiments  than  those  of  filial  and  fraternal  affection.” 

“ Oh ! charming,  charming  l”  exclaimed  Clementine  Vermont, 


NEW  SCENES  AND  DANGERS.  35 

with  a malicious  sneer, <c  such  simplicity  is  truly  edifying,  and 
quite  worthy  of  Saint  Rose.” 

The  sarcastic  manner  in  which  these  last  words  were  uttered 
seemed  considerably  to  irritate  the  mind  of  the  young  lady  who 
was  their  object.  She  looked  extiemely  hurt;  the  blush  which 
had  overspread  her  countenance  heightened  to  a deep  crimson, 
and  the  tears  started  to  her  eyes  ; but  she  controlled  her  emotions 
by  a strong  effort,  and  received  the  observation,  and  the  general 
laugh  which  it  excited,  in  perfect  silence. 

Emily’s  attention  had  been  powerfully  arrested  by  this  little 
incident,  and  she  could  think  of  nothing  else  all  the  rest  of  the 
evening.  She  looked  at  Mademoiselle  de  Liancourt,  and  wonder- 
ed that  she  had  never  noticed  her  before.  This  young  lady  slept 
in  a room  adjoining  her  own,  and  they  had  occasionally  bowed, 
as  they  passed  each  other;  but  there  was  something  so  retiring, 
so  unobtrusive,  in  her  appearance,  and  she  mixed  so  seldom  with 
the  gay  circle  which  every  evening  surrounded  the  work-table, 
that  Emily  scarcely  knew  her  name  before,  and  had  never  been 
led  to  pay  her  any  attention.  That  evening,  however,  seemed  to 
present  her  in  a most  interesting  light;  and  as  Emily  took  a 
favorable  opportunity  of  observing  her  countenance,  she  thought 
she  had  seldom  met  W3th  a more  pleasing  one.  It  bore  a striking 
expression  of  mild  seriousness,  candor,  and  humility;  her  soft 
dark  eyes  spoke  of  modesty  and  gentleness,  and  her  fine  chestnut 
hair,  neatly  braided  on  her  forehead,  added  to  the  elegant  simpli- 
city of  her  appearance. 

There  was  some  hidden  meaning  attached  to  the  mention  of 
Saint  Rose,  which 'Emily  felt  extremely  curious  to  know ; and 
she  discovered  the  next  day  that  this  was  a term  of  reproach,  be- 
stowed on  this  young  lady  on  account  of  her  peculiar  seriousness, 
and  conscientious  attention  to  all  those  precepts  which  she  was 
. taught  to  regard  as  the  rule  of  a Christian’s  faith  and  practice. 

This  information,  it  will  naturally  be  supposed,  not  a little  in 
creased  the  interest  which  her  appearance  had  excited  in  the 
mind  of  Emily.  Delighted  at  the  idea  that  there  was  one  serious 
Catholic  in  the  house,  she  seized  the  first  opportunity  of  forming 
an  acquaintance  with  the  unassuming  Rose.  This  she  found  no 
difficulty  in  doing,  for,  though  of  a timid  and  retiring  disposition, 
Mademoiselle  de  Liancourt  possessed,  in  an  eminent  degree,  that 
refined  politeness  of  manners,  and  unaffected  kindness  of  heart, 
which  ought  ever  to  distinguish  the  character  of  a Christian, 
especially  of  a well-educated  one.  A number  of  little  friendly 
services  were  interchanged  between  them,  and  they  soon  con- 
tracted a pleasing  intimacy,  which  a greater  knowledge  of  each 
other  only  contributed  to  heighten  and  endear.  There  was  a re- 
markable congeniality  of  tastes,  feelings,  and  pursuits,  between 
these  two  young  persons  ; and  there  was  but  one  point  on  which 


36 


.NEW  SCENES  AND  DANGERS. 


they  could  not  sympathize ; but  one  subject  on  which  they  could 
not  converse  with  mutual  and  unreserved  confidence. 

That  one  subject,  alas  ! was  precisely  that  which  was  most  in- 
teresting to  the  hearts  of  both  ; the  only  one , indeed,  which  they 
felt  to  be  of  any  real  importance.  They  were  both  sincerely  de- 
voted to  religion,  yet  they  durst  scarcely  mention  the  word  to 
each  other  ; for  the  rules  of  the  establishment  strictly  forbade  any 
discussion,  and  it  was  difficult  to  enter  on  so  delicate  a subject, 
without  trespassing  the  bounds  which  policy  had  prescribed.  A 
general  observation,  en  passant,  or  a guarded  expression  now  and 
then,  was  therefore  all  they  could  venture  upon  ; and  this  circum- 
stance threw  a great  deal  of  constraint  over  their  otherwise 
delightful  intercourse. 

1 Emily  and  Caroline  had  as  yet  seen  but  little  of  Popish  cere- 
monies ; they  had  found  much  scope  for  observation,  but  knew 
nothing  of  that  seductive  influence  which  so  peculiarly  accom- 
panies the  ordinances  of  the  Romish  church.  A circumstance, 
however,  soon  occurred,  which  strikingly  recalled  to  the  mind  of 
Emily  the  warnings  of  her  anxious  friends  at  the  Parsonage. 

They  were  taking  a lesson  of  vocal  music  one  afternoon,  with 
several  French  pupils,  when  one  of  the  teachers  suddenly  entered 
the  room,  and,  in  a low  voice,  requested^the  master  to  suspend 
the  singing,  as  the  “ bon  Dieu ” was  every  moment  expected  to 
enter  the  house.  The  cousins  looked  at  each  other  in  silence ; 
they  knew  that  u the  good  God”  was  the  term  usually  chosen  to 
designate  the  Almighty ; and,  as  they  were  totally  inexperienced 
in  Roman  Catholic  customs,  felt  utterly  at  a loss  to  account  for 
so  extraordinary  an  intimation.  Before  they  could  form  any  con- 
jecture on  the  subject,  the  same  teacher  re-entered,  and  whisper- 
ed something  to  the  master;  the  door  was  immediately  thrown 
open,  and  the  whole  party  advanced  towards  it.  Emily  and  Caro- 
line imagined  they  were  called  upon  to  leave  the  room;  but 
what  was  their  astonishment,  when  they  saw  all  the  young  ladies 
fall  on  their  knees.  Unable  to  guess  the  reason,  and  confused  by 
the  suddenness  of  the  action,  they  almost  involuntarily  followed 
their  example;  but  a moment’s  reflection  recalling  to  Emily’s 
mind  the  imprudence  of  such  an  action,  she  hastily  started  up, 
and  Caroline  also  rose.  At  that  instant  a sudden  glare  of  light 
burst  upon  their  sight, — an  unaccountable  terror  took  possession 
of  their  minds, — a cloud  of  incense  rose  from  the  stairs, — and 
overcome  by  the  agitation  of  the  moment,  they  lost  all  self- 
possession,  and  again  sank  on  their  knees.  Two  men  now  ap- 
peared, each  bearing  a lighted  taper ; another  followed  them  with 
a censer,  and  a small  bell,  and  then  came  a priest,  carrying  a little 
silver  box,  in  which  was  enclosed  a sacramental  wafer,  the  object 
of  all  this  display.  They  were  going  to  administer  the  last  rites 
of  their  church  to  one  of  Madame  d’Elfort’s  servants,  who,  having 


NEW  SCENES  AND  DANGERS.  37 

languished  for  some  time  under  an  alarming  disorder,  was  that 
evening  to  submit  to  a painful  and  dangerous  operation. 

When  the  pageant  had  passed,  and  the  cousins  recovered  their 
recollection,  they  felt  excessively  ashamed  at  having  thus  allow- 
ed themselves  to  be  surprised  into  what  they  could  not  but  con- 
sider as  at  least  the  appearance  of  idolatry. 

Emily  was  particularly  vexed  at  this  occurrence,  as  she  ob- 
served that  the  French  girls  considered  it  a triumph ; but  Caro- 
line was  so  overpowered  by  its  effect,  that  her  agitation  was  ex- 
treme during  the  rest  of  the  day.  “ My  dear  girl,”  said  her  cousin, 
“ let  this  be  a warning  to  us  ; let  it  teach  us  to  be  more  on  our 
guard  against  the  power  of  our  senses.  Do  you  not  remember 
dear  Mr.  Morton’s  admonitions,  on  the  influence  of  Popish  cere- 
monies ? Let  us  watch  and  pray  more  against  it,  or  we  may 
again  be  betrayed  into  actions  which  we  must  deeply  regret  and 
repent  of” 

On  their  return  to  the  school-room,  they  found  Madame  d’El- 
fort  looking  much  affected.  She  had  been  mentioning  to  her 
pupils  the  case  of  the  poor  servant  above,  and  every  cheek  had 
turned  pale  with  compassion  and  terror.  “ My  dear  children,” 
continued  she,  “ let  us  all  unite  in  saying  a paternoster  for  the 
poor  creature  and  implore  for  her  the  help  and  support  of  God  and 
the  blessed  Virgin.”  They  all  knelt  accordingly;  and  while  the 
hearts  of  the  cousins  were  lifted  up,  with  the  most  intense  earn- 
estness, to  the  “ Father  of  Mercies  and  the  God  of  all  comfort,” 
that  he  would  grant  the  agonized  sufferer  strength  and  grace 
equal  to  her  need,  Madame  d’Elfort  repeated  aloud  the  Lord’s 
Prayer  and  the  Salutation  to  the  Virgin,  in  which  she  was  joined 
by  the  French  pupils.  “ Alas !”  thought  Emily,  “ what  a misera- 
ble refuge  for  a dying  sinner ! ‘ The  God  of  Israel  is  he  who 
giveth  strength  and  power  to  his  people  ;’  is  it  not,  then,  grossly 
insulting  him,  to  ask  from  a glorified  creature  that  support  which 
he  alone  can  bestow  ?” 

The  young  ladies  had  been  so  much  shocked  by  the  idea  of  the 
surgical  operation  which  the  poor  woman  was  then  undergoing, 
that  not  one  had  ventured  a question  as  to  its  probable  result. 
Before  retiring  to  rest,  however,  as  Mademoiselle  Laval  en- 
tered Miss  Mortimer’s  room,  Caroline  tremblingly  inquired  how 
she  had  gone  through  the  trial  ? “ Compose  yourself,”  replied 

the  teacher,  with  much  feeling,  “the  poor  sufferer  suffers  no 
more.”  “ She  is  dead,  then !”  exclaimed  Caroline,  clasping  her 
hands  in  breathless  emotion.  Mademoiselle  Laval  replied  that 
she  had  just  expired.  / 

“ Dead !”  repeated  Emily,  mournfully,  as  the  teacher  closed  the 
door,  “ gone  to  receive  her  final  sentence,  and  how  ? Perhaps  her 
mind  was  so  fatally  blinded,  as  to  place  an  implicit  reliance  on 
superstitious  ceremonies  for  her  salvation,  and  neglect  the  only 
4 


38 


NEW  SCENES  AND  DANGERS. 


scriptural  refuge  for  a guilty  creature, — that  Almighty  Saviour, 
who  alone  can  enable  the  sinner  to  stand  with  confidence  before 
his  Judge  ! O!  did  she  know  that  Saviour  ?n  inquired  her  anxious 
mind;  but  to  that  solemn,  that  awful  question,  she  could  receive 
no  answer.  She  tried  to  leave  the  case  in  the  hands  of  Him  who 
is  the  judge  of  the  quick  and  the  dead  ; yet  still  her  fancy  dwelt 
on  the  poor  woman’s  excruciating  sufferings;  and  when  she 
thought  of  the  fearful  uncertainty  that  rested  on  her  fate,  her  heart 
seemed  to  die  within  her.  Caroline  laid  her  head  on  her  pillow, 
and  wept  in  silent  emotion. 

The  English  girls  were  very  much  amused  when  they  heard  of 
the  effect  which  the  sight  of  the  host  had  produced  on  the  minds 
of  the  new  comers.  The  frequency  of  these  exhibitions  had  ren- 
dered them  familiar  to  their  eyes ; and  whenever  the  French 
boarders  knelt,  they  quietly  kept  their  seats.  They  informed 
Emily  and  Caroline,  that  kneeling  was  considered  so  indispensa- 
ble, as  a mark  of  respect  to  the  host,  that  whenever  the  bell, 
which  always  preceded  it,  announced  its  approach,  no  Catholic 
could  be  exempted  from  the  obligation,  should  he  even  be  com- 
pelled to  kneel  in  a muddy  street. 

“ Is  it  possible  you  do  not  see,”  said  Emily  to  Miss  Lushington, 
“that  all  these  ceremonies,  however  superstitious  they  maybe, 
have  a very  strong  hold  on  the  senses  and  the  imagination 

“ I certainly  did  find  them  very  striking  at  first ; but  now  they 
only  excite  a feeling  of  ridicule.” 

“ I think,  dear  Anna,  they  should  rather  excite  sorrow  and  pity ; 
but  I am  persuaded  that  a residence  here  cannot  but  be  highly 
dangerous.” 

“ Not  to  me,  however,”  replied  Anna,  smiling  with  much  self- 
complacency,  “ for  I know  those  things  are  very  foolish ; and 
some  of  the  last  words  papa  said  to  me,  when  I left  him,  were, 
‘ Remember,  Anna,  that  you  must  not  listen  to  anything  the  Ro- 
man Catholics  may  tell  you  in  favor  of  their  religion.’  ” 

“ Poor  girl !”  thought  Emily,  “ what  an  insufficient  safeguard ! 
she  must  not  listen ! but  she  cannot  avoid  hearing;  and  yet  this  is 
all  the  protection  that  is  thought  necessary,  by  an  English  parent, 
for  a young  girl  totally  ignorant  on  the  subject,  and  reckless  of 
the  hidden  snare !” 

The  English  teacher  resident  in  the  house  was  a striking  ex 
ample  of  the  dangers  incident  to  the  place.'  She  had  been  brought 
up  a Protestant,  but  bad  mixed  a great  deal  in  French  society, 
and  at  length  adopted  all  its  opinions  and  customs.  Madame 
d’Elfort  had  had  no  share  in  producing  this  change  ; but  Miss 
Parker  had  gradually  forsaken  the  Protestant  cause,  without, 
however,  decidedly  adopting  the  religion  of  the  country.  She  had 
renounced  all  fellowship  with  the  English,  constantly  attended 
the  Roman  Catholic  church,  and  was  generally  lotted  upon  a 


NEW  SCENES  AND  DANGERS. 


39 


having  changed  her  religion  ; yet  she  nad  made  no  public  abjura- 
tion ; she  never  confessed  to  a priest,  nor  did  she  use  the  sign  of 
the  cross,  which  was  considered  the  distinguishing  mark  of  a 
Roman  Catholic.  Her  conduct  frequently  excited  considerable 
curiosity,  and  gave  occasion  for  numerous  animadversions.  “ It 
is  thought  very  extraordinary,”  said  Anna  Lushington,  as  she  and 
Emily  were  one  day  conversing  on  the  subject.  “ I should  think 
it  truly  contemptible,”  observed  the  latter ; “ for  if  Miss  Parker 
really  prefers  the  Romish  religion,  why  does  she  not  make  a can- 
did and  unequivocal  profession  of  its  doctrines  1 It  would,  at 
least,  be  acting  honestly , which  at  present  she  cannot  be  said  to 
do” 

“ Some  of  her  friends  excuse  her,”  resumed  Anna,  “by  alleging 
that  she  is  fearful  of  giving  offence  to  the  Protestants  5 and  that, 
in  order  to  avoid  public  eclat , she  prefers  maintaining  a sort  of 
neutrality.” 

u What  a wretched  excuse  !”  exclaimed  Emily,  indignantly ; 
“believe  me,  my  dear  Miss  Lushington,  there  can  be  no  neutrality 
in  religion — the  Bible  allows  of  none.  ‘ He  that  is  not  with  me,’ 
says  Christ,  ‘ is  against  me — and  surely,  surely,  Miss  Parker  does 
much  more  real  injury  to  religion,  and  gives  much  more  offence 
to  every  true  Protestant,  by  such  temporizing,  such  unworthy 
conduct,  than  she  could  do  by  an  open  desertion.” 

Miss  Parker  evidently  wished  to  avoid  all  unnecessary  inter- 
course with  the  English  pupils,  and  her  company  was  therefore 
never  sought  by  them.  She  found  herself  obliged,  one  Sunday, 
on  her  return  from  the  Cathedral,  to  pass  through  the  room  in 
which  they  were  assembled  for  afternoon  service.  The  prayers 
were  finished,  and  Emily  was  just  reading  the  text  of  a deeply- 
interesting  sermon,  “ I determined  not  to  know  anything  among 
you,  save  Jesus  Christ,  and  him  crucified.”  She  raised  her  head 
on  hearing  the  door  open  ; her  eyes  met  those  of  Miss  Parker,  and 
she  repeated,  with  a kind  of  imploring  emphasis,  “ Jesus  Christ, 
and  him  crucified .”  But  the  ear  to  which  these  words  were  ad- 
dressed was  deaf  to  their  touching  import  5 the  heart  they  were 
meant  to  reach  was  closed  against  their  subduing  power ; Miss 
Parker  turned  her  head  scornfully  away,  and  hurried  across  the 
room,  as  if  she  had  fled  from  a serpent.  “Alas!  poor  unhappy 
wanderer !”  thought  Emily,  “ to  whom  will  she  go,  if  she  thus 
turns  away  from  Him  who  has  the  words  of  eternal  life  V9  She 
was  much  affected  by  this  reflection,  and  could  never  pronounce 
that  sweet  petition  of  our  truly  scriptural  Litany,  “ That  it  may 
please  thee  to  bring  into  the  way  of  truth  all  such  as  have  erred, 
and  are  deceived,”  without  painfully  remembering  the  case  of  poor 
Miss  Parker. 


CHAPTER  VI 


THE  FUNERAL 

He  shall  deliver  thee  from  the  snare  of  the  fowler,  and  from  the  noisome  pea- 

tilence  A thousand  shall  fall  at  thy  side,  and  ten  thousand  at  thy  right 

hand ; but  it  shall  not  come  nigh  thee. — Psalm  xci.  3,  7. 

Caroline  and  Emily  had  resided  about  three  months  in  France, 
when  the  former  received  a letter  from  her  father,  containing  the 
intelligence  that  her  sister  Lydia’s  health  had  been  for  some  time 
delicate,  and  that  the  medical  attendant  having  strongly  recom- 
mended her  being  removed  to  a more  genial  climate,  her  parents 

had  resolved  to  send  her  to  S , and  make  her  the  companion 

of  her  sister’s  studies.  Mr.  Howard  was  therefore  to  escort  her 
to  France  immediately;  and,  before  Emily  and  Caroline  had  re- 
covered from  the  surprise,  and  the  mingled  feelings,  excited  by 
this  information,  the  two  travellers  arrived  at  Madame  d’Elfort’s 
mansion. 

The  joy  which  Caroline  experienced,  on  the  arrival  of  her  fa- 
ther and  sister,  was  considerably  damped  by  the  feelings  of  appre- 
nension  excited  by  the  pale  countenance,  and  evident  weakness, 
of  the  latter.  As  soon,  however,  as  she  had  recovered  from  the 
fatigue  of  travelling,  Lydia’s  health  began  gradually  to  improve; 
she  felt  the  benefit  of  change  of  air,  and  a more  settled  tempera- 
ture ; and,  as  her  strength  began  to  return,  her  buoyant  spirits  re- 
covered their  usual  flow.  Mr.  Howard  remained  at  S till  he 

saw  this  favorable  change,  and  then  left  his  daughters  and  niece 
to  their  scholastic  duties. 

He  had  also  brought  Madame  d’Elfort  two  other  English  pupils 
— the  daughters  of  a clergyman  who  resided  a few  miles  from 
Ellerton,  and  who,  being  unable  to  leave  his  parish  for  any  length 
of  time,  had  requested  Mr.  Howard  to  take  them  under  his  care. 
Emma  and  Louisa  Selwyn  were  twins,  and  about  fifteen  years  of 
age ; they  had  enjoyed  the  unspeakable  blessing  of  a religious 
education,  and  had  been  taught  to  make  the  gospel  the  rule  of 
their  faith,  and  the  guide  of  their  life.  Their  parents  were  pious 
people,  and  had  not  sent  them  to  France  without  much  hesitation 
and  reluctance  ; but,  having  heard  a favorable  account  of  Emily 
and  Caroline,  from  the  Rev.  Mr.  Somerville,  Mrs.  Selwyn,  though 
totally  unacquainted  with  them,  wrote  to  request  their  friendship 
and  advice  for  her  daughters,  and  Mrs  Somerville  also  strongly 
recommended  them  to  her  young  friends.  Emily  was  delighted 
at  the  prospect  of  having  an  increase  of  serious  companions,  and 
welcomed  the  two  amiable  sisters  with  much  warmth  ; nor  was 
Caroline  backward  in  kindness  towards  them. 


THE  FUNERAL. 


41 


The  second  day  after  their  arrival  also  witnessed  that  of  two 
other  English  pupils.  One  was  a little  girl  of  twelve  or  thirteen, 
of  a pleasing,  lively  countenance,  and  great,  naivete  of  manners ; 
the  other  was  about  sixteen,  and  had  a peculiarly  prepossessing 
appearance.  The  French  girls,  who  considered  beauty  as  the  most 
excellent  and  desirable  thing  in  a young  person,  were  immediately 
enchanted  with  her  face  and  figure,  and  expressed  their  admira- 
tion in  the  most  rapturous  language ; for  Helen  Douglas  was  a 
very  lovely  girl,  and  few  young  persons  could  be  more  attractive. 
They  praised  the  light  elegance  of  her  form;  the  delicate  transpa- 
rency of  her  complexion,  the  pleasing  harmony  of  her  features, 
and  the  profusion  of  her  fine  auburn  ringlets;  but  our  English 
girls  were  particularly  struck  with  the  sweetness  of  her  counte- 
nance, the  modesty  and  gentleness  of  her  demeanor,  and  the  pen- 
sive softness  of  her  manners.  They  were  extremely  land  and  at- 
tentive to  the  interesting  stranger,  and  used  every  endeavor  to 
cheer  her  drooping  spirits ; for  she  was  almost  overwhelmed  with 
grief,  at  quitting  her  parents  and  her  home.  For  some  days  she 
seemed  to  refuse  everything  like  comfort ; but  these  painful  im- 
pressions wore  away  by  degrees  ; she  became  resigned  and  tran- 
quil, and  attached  herself  in  a peculiar  manner  to  Emily  and  her 
little  circle. 

It  would  have  been  amusing  to  an  unconcerned  spectator,  to  ob- 
serve the  different  effects  which  the  new  acenes  around  them  pro- 
duced on  the  minds  of  these  young  persons,  and  the  various 
ways  in  which  they  w'ere  affected,  by  the  mode  of  life  they  were 
obliged  to  adopt.  Lydia  Howard,  with  all  the  warmth  of  a ro- 
mantic fancy,  had  pictured  to  herself  a scene  of  ideal  delight,  in 
the  enjoyments  connected  with  her  residence  at  school ; but,  in 
proportion  as  her  expectations  had  been  raised  to  an  unreasonable 
pitch,  was  the  bitterness  of  her  disappointment.  She  had  scarcely 
entered  the  house  before  she  found  it  dull  and  gloomy,  the  mode 
of  life  insupportable,  the  French  inhabitants  disagreeable  beyond 
description,  and,  in  short,  everything  contrary  to  her  pre-conceived 
ideas.  She  sometimes  manifested  the  greatest  impatience  of  con- 
trol ; but  the  excessive  gaiety  of  her  disposition,  the  conviction  of 
her  duty,  and  the  comfort  of  having  her  sister  and  cousin  with 
her,  enabled  her  to  support,  with  tolerable  fortitude,  what  she, 
nevertheless,  disliked  in  the  highest  degree.  She  frequently 
amused  her  friends  by  her  humorous  sallies,  consisting  of  passion- 
ate invectives  against  the  place,  mingled  with  ludicrous  descrip- 
tions of  French  manners,  wild  flights  of  an  ungovernable  fancy, 
and  half-comic,  half-pathetic  invocations  to  home.  Yet  she  was 
truly  amiable,  and  the  favorite  of  everybody. 

Emma  and  Louisa  Selwyn  were  much  less  annoyed  by  the 
change,  than  the  lively  and  susceptible  Lydia.  Their  characters 
were  less  subject  to  extremes  than  hers  and  they  were  more  easily 

4* 


42 


THE  FUNERAL. 


reconciled  to  the  want  of  English  comforts.  Emma  was  an  agreea- 
ble and  lively  girl,  of  an  easy  and  complying  disposition,  and  soon 
seemed  more  at  home  in  her  new  situation  than  even  her  friends 
could  have  wished.  Louisa  had  more  faults  than  her  sister,  but  she 
had  also  more  energy  of  character.  She  was  gentle,  but  high- 
spirited;  and,  though  too  often  yielding  in  things  of  apparently 
small  importance,  when  roused  to  exertion,  she  could  display  a 
considerable  degree  of  decision.  She  possessed  a happy  evenness 
of  temper,  and  an  uninterrupted  flow  of  cheerfulness,  which  very 
agreeably  smoothed  her  path  through  the  briery  maze  she  had  to 
tread,  and  blunted  the  point  of  many  a thorrj,  which  would  other- 
wise have  impeded  her  progress. 

Agnes  Beverley,  the  little  girl  who  had  arrived  on  the  same  day 
as  Miss  Douglas,  was  greatly  astonished  by  the  new  scenes  which 
surrounded  her,  but  it  was  not  long  before  she  experienced  their 
pernicious  influence.  She  had  been  brought  up  by  parents  who 
made  a profession  of  religion,  and  were  really  good,  though  ex- 
ceedingly injudicious  people.  They  had  given  her  excellent  ad- 
vice, but  had  not  curbed  the  impetuosity  of  her  disposition ; nor 
had  they  labored,  with  sufficient  earnestness  and  vigilance,  to  give 
her  affections  a heavenly  direction.  She  was  heedless,  giddy,  and 
fond  of  pleasure ; obstinate,  proud,  and  conceited ; and  so  exceed- 
ingly unsettled  in  her  principles,  that  she  readily  embraced  the 
opinions  and  sentiments  of  those  with  whom  she  associated.  She 
manifested,  at  first,  a great  deal  of  impatience,  at  the  restraints 
she  was  obliged  to  submit  to  ; but,  when  once  accustomed  to  the 
place  and  its  inhabitants,  yielded  to  their  customs  on  almost  every 
occasion ; and,  though  she  had  once  seemed  extremely  suscepti- 
ble of  serious  impressions,  she  soon  fell  into  the  snares  that  sur- 
rounded her,  and  forgot  the  maxims  of  her  education,  whenever 
her  principles  were  put  to  the  test. 

Helen  Douglas  was  not  a serious  girl,  but  she  was  amiable  and 
well  disposed.  Her  feelings  and  tastes  were  so  entirely  English , 
that  she  was  perfectly  disgusted  with  French  manners,  and  could 
never  assimilate  with  characters  so  little  in  unison  with  her  own. 
Yet  she  bore  with  much  patience  the  little  inconveniences  attach- 
ed to  her  situation,  and  was  much  more  reconciled  to  its  restraints, 
than  the  impetuous,  but  warm-hearted  Lydia.  Her  character  was 
remarkably  reserved,  and,  therefore,  she  was  not  long  a favorite 
with  the  giddy  and  talkative  French  girls.  Even  with  her  friends, 
this  fault,  if  it  might  be  called  one,  was  frequently  a bar  to  unre- 
strained conversation ; it  gave  her  an  appearance  of  coldness,  and 
often  passed  for  indifference.  Yet  there  was  a mildness  in  her  dis- 
position, and,  at  times,  a natural  playfulness  in  her  manner,  which 
made  her  truly  beloved  by  those  who  knew  how  to  appreciate  her 
character. 

Our  young  friends  contri  /ed  to  be  as  much  together,  as  the  na 


THE  FUNERAL. 


43 


ture  of  their  situation  would  permit.  This  was  not  always  easy, 
for  the  system  of  incessant  surveillance  adopted  in  the  school  left 
them  very  few  opportunities  of  eluding  its  severity.  “ Oh,  what 
a miserable  place  is  this  !”  would  Lydia  often  exclaim ; “ we  are 
really  watched  as  closely  as  if  we  were  prisoners,  who  had  been 
guilty  of  some  great  crime.  It  is  very  hard  that  one  cannot  be  a 
single  moment  alone  in  the  garden,  in  one’s  bed-room,  or  indeed 
anywhere,  without  being  liable  to  reproof.  What  harm  could  we 
possibly  do  alone,  or  two  or  three  together,  in  such  a house  as 
this  ?” 

■-  This  continued  vigilance,”  observed  Emily,  “ is  the  result  of 
that  excessive  restraint,  under  which  it  is  thought  necessary,  in 
this  part  of  France,  that  young  persons  should  be  educated.  It 
is  considered  dangerous  to  allow  them,  for  an  instant,  to  escape 
the  eye  of  observation ; and  therefore  you  are  required  to  be 
always  assembled  in  one  place,  and  under  the  continual  inspec- 
tion of  a teacher.” 

“ 0 happy,  happy  England !”  exclaimed  the  animated  Lydia ; 
“ blessed  land  of  freedom  and  of  peace  ! where  girls  of  fifteen  or 
sixteen  are  looked  upon  as  rational  beings,  and  capable  of  distin- 
guishing between  right  and  wrong ; — where  they  are  taught  to  re- 
spect themselves,  instead  of  being  constantly  suspected  ; — where 
they  are  gently  led  into  the  paths  of  virtue,  without  being  subject- 
ed to  the  degrading  coercion,  which  is  more  likely  to  disgust  than 
to  benefit  their  minds.  England!  dear  England  forever!”  con- 
tinued the  youthful  enthusiast,  waving  her  hand  in  rapturous  ec- 
staey;  “I  would  not  exchange  the  privilege  of  being  an  English 
girl,  for  all  the  wealth  of  the  Indies,  or  all  the  boasted  advantages 
which  France  is  so  proud  of  possessing.” 

, Emily  laughed  at  these  lively  sallies  of  the  impatient  girl ; but, 
though  she  brought  forward  every  motive  which  could  reconcile 
her  to  her  lot,  she  herself  frequently  felt  the  unpleasantness  of 
her  own  situation.  It  was  not  often  that  she  could  enjoy  the  com- 
pany of  her  friends,  in  such  a manner  as  to  allow  of  unrestrained 
conversation;  but  when  the  privilege  was  granted,  it  was  a plea- 
sure which  amply  repaid  her  for  many  a day  of  privation. 

“Miss  Mortimer!  Miss  Howard!”  exclaimed  Agnes  Beverley, 
running  into  the  room  one  morning,  as  Emily  was  busily  engaged 
in  sketching  a landscape,  and  Caroline,  leaning  against  an  open 
window,  and  absorbed  in  unusual  thoughtfulness,  was  silently 
contemplating  the  garden  below, — “how  quietly  you  are  sitting 
in  this  back  room,  while  everybody  else  is  crowding  to  the  front 
gate!  Why,  don’t  you  know  what  is  going  on  this  morning? 
and  are  you  not  desirous  of  seeing  the  procession  ?” 

“ What  procession  ?”  inquired  Emily,  looking  up  from  her  draw 
ing,  while  Caroline  turned 'hastily  round,  and  seemed  as  if  trying 
to  collect  her  bewildered  thoughts. 


44 


THE  FUNERAL. 


“ Why,  a funeral,  to  be  sure — a grand  funerax ! The  French 
say  it  will  be  a most  beautiful  sight,  and  Madame  d’Elfort  has 
given  us  leave  to  see  it.  Will  you  not  come  to  the  gate  ?” 

As  she  uttered  this  question,  without  waiting  for  a reply,  she 
darted  from  the  room,  and  Emily  just  saw  her  raven  hair  floating 
in  the  morning  breeze,  as,  with  the  swiftness  of  a fawn,  she 
bounded  across  the  lawn  to  join  her  companions. 

Emily  turned  toward  the  garden-window,  to  give  Caroline  her 
bonnet,  which  she  had  taken  from  the  table ; but  Caroline  was 
gone,  and,  supposing  that  she  had  left  the  house  with  Agnes,  she  pro- 
ceeded to  the  outer  gate,  revolving  in  her  mind  the  strange  scene 
she  was  about  to  witness. 

“ Who  is  the  person  they  are  going  to  inter inquired  she  of 
Anna  Lushington,  who,  with  her  characteristic  indolence,  was 
leaning  against  the  gate  in  a languid  posture 

“ I have  forgotten  her  name,”  was  the  answer,  “ but  she  belong- 
ed to  the  congregation.  She  had  lately  inherited  a considerable 
fortune, which  she  expended  in  the  most  charitable  manner.  Every 
one  is  loud  in  the  praise  of  her  piety  and  benevolence  ; they  seem 
to  regard  her  almost  as  a saint,  and  the  congregationists  are  to  at- 
tend her  funeral,  in  their  distinguishing  costume.” 

Emily  recollected  the  account  she  had  lately  heard,  of  the  so- 
ciety called  the  congregation.  It  was  composed  of  some  hundreds 
of  young  ladies,  who  consecrated  themselves,  solemnly  and  pub- 
licly, to  God  and  the  Virgin.  The  dedication  did  not  include  any 
vow  of  celibacy  or  retirement,  but  the  persons  so  dedicated  pro- 
fessed to  employ  themselves  chiefly  in  works  of  charity  and  de- 
votion, and  always  accompanied  the  religious  processions. 

The  deep  sound  of  funeral  chanting  now  arrested  the  attention 
of  Emily,  and,  looking  forward,  she  perceived  a cortege , which  was 
strikingly  calculated  to  produce  a powerful  effect  on  the  senses. 
It  was  preceded  by  several  orphan  girls,  belonging  to  an  institu- 
tion which  the  deceased  patronized : one  of  them  carried  a gilt 
cross,  and  the  others  wax  tapers  of  an  immense  size.  Then  fol 
lowed  two  or  three  hundred  ladies,  dressed  in  black,  their  faces 
shrouded  in  long  white  muslin  veils,  which  floated  gracefully  ovei 
their  mourning  drapery.  They  also  carried  lighted  tapers.  The 
coflin  was  covered  with  black  velvet,  over  which  was  thrown  a 
white  silk  pall ; another  large  cross  was  borne  before  it.  It  was 
surrounded  by  a great  number  of  priests,  in  white  surplices,  with 
tapers  in  their  hands.  A multitude  of  persons  in  black  closed 
the  procession. 

There  was  an  air  of  grandeur  and  majesty  in  the  whole  of  this 
ceremony,  which  was  well  calculated  to  strike  the  mind  with  awe, 
and  operate  powerfully  on  the  feelings;  and  Emily  felt  its  thrill 
ing  effect  in  no  inconsiderable  degree.  When  the  glare  of  the  ta 
pers  met  her  eyes,  contrasted  as  it  was  with  the  mourning  dresses 


THE  FUNERAL, 


45 


and  flawing  veils  of  the  attending  ladies,  when  the  deep  silence 
of  the  scene  was,  at  intervals,  suddenly  interrupted  by  the  sono- 
rous voices  of  the  priests,  chanting,  in  a slow  and  sepulchral  tone* 
the  requiem  for  the  departed  soul she  felt  the  whole  fall  on  her 
heart  with  such  a feeling  of  painful  and  overpowering  emotion, 
that  she  could  not,  Without  fainting,  have  borne  it  much  longer. 
She  leaned,  half-insensible*  against  the  wall ; a deep-drawn  sigh, 
accompanied  with  tears,  in  some  measure  relieved  the  oppression 
of  her  bosom,  when  the  procession  was  past ; but  as  she  walked 
back  to  her  room,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  Louisa  Selwyn,  who  was 
herself  much  affected,  she  could  not  but  tremble  for  the  effect  of 
these  delusive  exhibitions;  on  the  minds  of  those  who  were  most 
dear  to  her  in  the  place. 

On  re-entering  the  house,  she  was  forcibly  struck  by  Caroline’s 
altered  countenance.  She,  too,  was  pale  with  emotion,  and  had 
evidently  been  weeping.  Emily  drew  near,  and  affectionately 
took  her  hand;  but  she  averted  her  face,  and,  with  a sudden  move- 
ment, disengaging  herself,  hastily  walked  into  the  garden,  with  an 
evident  determination  not  to  be  followed.  Emily  stood  riveted 
to  the  spot  with  surprise,  and  gazed  after  her  till  she  disappeared, 
then  sought  her  own  room,  to  reflect  on  the  change  which  a few 
hours  seemed  to  have  produced  on  her  once  gay  and  open-hearted 
cousin.  In  crossing  the  corridor,  she  met  little  Agnes  Beverley, 
who  followed  her  into  the  room.  Her  dark  eyes  sparkled  with 
animation,  as  she  said, 

“ O Miss  Mortimer!  was  not  the  funeral  beautiful?  I think  I 
never  saw  anything  so  solemn  ; and  then  it  was  so  affecting !” 

“ It  was  pompous,”  said  Emily,  pensively,  “ but  I think  the 
beautiful  simplicity  of  a Protestant  funeral  infinitely  better  cal- 
culated to  impress  the  heart  with  suitable  feelings.  There  is  no 
warrant  in  Scripture  for  so  much  display,  and  the  effect  it  pro  ■ 
duces  on  the  mind  is,  perhaps,  not  the  best  calculated  to  encou- 
rage serious  reflection.” 

“ Oh ! indeed  I think  it  is.  One  cannot  but  be  serious , when  one 
sees  such  solemn  things,  and  I am  sure  I approve  veiy  much  of 
that  Roman  Catholic  custom.” 

These  words  were  uttered  with  a tone  of  much  self-sufficiency 
and  conceit.  Emily  made  no  reply,  for  heF  heart  was  too  full  to 
allow  her.  ' The  impression  produced  by  Caroline’s  behavior  dwelt 
painfully  on  her  mind,  and  her  tears  flowed  unrestrainedly,  when 
Agnes  had  left  the  room.  When  the  two  cousins  again  met,  Caro- 
line seemed  to  have  recovered  her  composure ; but  there  was  a 
chilling  reserve  in  her  manner,  which  effectually  prevented  Emily 
from  inquiring  into  the  cause  of  an  alteration  so  wounding  to  the 
feelings  of  a friend. 

From  that  day,  Emily  seemed  to  have  lost  all  access  to  the  heart 
of  her  cousin.  That  sweet  union  of  soul  which  they  had  hitherto 


46 


THE  FUNERAL. 


enjoyed,  that  delightful  oneness  of  sentiments,  feelings,  and  pur 
suits,  which  had  till  then  subsisted  between  them,  seemed  now 
completely  at  an  end,  and  gave  place  to  the  most  painful  reserve 
The  smile  of  unaffected  cheerfulness  no  longer  brightened  tha 
face  of  Caroline  : her  natural  sprightliness  had  disappeared  ; she 
seemed  thoughtful  and  unhappy,  avoided  all  conversation  with 
ner  cousin,  and  frequently  shunned  her  approach  with  the  mosl 
sedulous  care. 

Many  were  the  tears  which  Emily  shed  over  this  painful  es 
trangement;  many  were  the  prayers  she  offered  up,  for  the  return 
of  her  cousin’s  confidence.  She  had  recourse  to  every  method 
that  the  most  sisterly  affection,  and  tender  anxiety,  could  suggest, 
to  win  back  the  heart  she  so  much  prized ; but,  alas ! they  were 
all  ineffectual.  Caroline  continued  gloomy,  cold,  and  silent;  she 
seemed  to  indulge  in  some  secret  anguish,  and  to  be  violently  agi- 
tated by  some  powerful  conflict.  Emily  struggled  to  conceal  her 
distressed  feelings,  and  strove  to  gain,  by  gentleness  and  forbear- 
ance, a disclosure  which  she  longed,  yet  dreaded  to  obtain.  Dis 
appointed  in  this  hope,  she  could  no  longer  conceal  her  anxiety, 
but  resolved  openly  to  request  some  explanation  from  Caroline. 

She  did  not,  however,  meet  with  the  opportunity  she  sought, 
but  was,  some  time  after,  delighted  to  see  Caroline’s  cheerfulness 
gradually  return.  The  gloom  insensibly  vanished  from  her  brow, 
and  her  manners  resumed  their  accustomed  ease  ; yet  a shade  of 
restraint  would  occasionally  damp  her  vivacity;  and  there  was  a 
marked  reserve  in  her  conduct,  whenever  religion  was  the  subject 
of  conversation,  which  painfully  oppressed  the  heart  of  Emily. 
She  trusted,  however,  that  time  might  do  much  to  dispel  these 
occasional  clouds ; and,  as  she  saw  no  diminution  in  her  atten- 
tion to  the  duties  of  religion,  she  at  least  endeavored  to  persuade 
herself  that  there  was  no  real  cause  for  anxiety. 

But  her  attention  was  soon  powerfully  arrested,  by  the  sad 
effects  of  French  society  on  the  minds  of  some  of  her  young  com- 
panions. She  saw,  with  much  pain,  that  Emma  Selwyn  gradu- 
ally lost  all  relish  for  spiritual  things — all  pleasure  in  serious  em- 
ployment. The  baneful  influence  of  gay  and  thoughtless  com- 
pany, drew  away  her  naturally  yielding  mind  from  that  attention 
to  religious  subjects,  which  it  had  been  the  most  anxious  wish  of 
her  parents  to  inculcate.  She  betrayed  a restlessness  and  languor, 
when  engaged  in  the  duties  of  the  Sabbath,  which  could  not  fail 
to  strike  those  who  had  witnessed  the  delight  she  took  in  them, 
on  her  first  arrival  in  France.  Alas ! her  religion  now  seemed  to 
have  been  but  as  the  seed  cast  into  stony  ground,  which,  not  hav- 
ing sufficient  depth,  sprang  up  with  fair  and  joyful  promise,  but 
withered  away  beneath  the  rays  of  the  sun  of  temptation.  This 
idea  was  painfully  impressed  on  the  minds  of  Emily  and  her  sis 
ter,  They  saw  her  enter  with  avidity  into  all  the  giddy  pursuit# 


THE  FUNERAL. 


47 


of  her  frivolous  companions,  mix  with  delight  in  the  song  and  the 
dance,  and  shun  the  company  and  conversation  of  those  whose 
anxious  affection  would  fain  have  recalled  her  from  the  path  of 
danger  and  destruction.  They  prayed  and  wept  over  her  case, 
and  earnestly  endeavored  to  take  advantage  of  every  feeling  of 
compunction,  every  sign  of  returning  reflection;  but  their  efforts 
were  generally  followed  by  disappointment ; and  the  thoughtless 
Emma  became  every  day  more  insensible  to  the  admonitions  of 
her  friends,  the  precepts  of  her  Bible,  and  the  voice  of  her  Hea- 
venly Shepherd. 

Lydia  Howard  had  too  much  reflection  and  principle,  to  be  se- 
duced by  the  frivolous  amusements  which  surrounded  heron  every 
side.  She  felt  their  emptiness  and  insufficiency,  and  joined  in 
them  as  little  as  she  could,  though  she  had  not  sufficient  resolu- 
tion to  decline  them  altogether.  Her  natural  gaiety  of  disposi- 
tion often  betrayed  her  better  judgment,  and  then  her  enlightened 
conscience  severely  reproved  her,  for  yielding  to  the  force  of  ex- 
ample. At  such  times  she  was  truly  miserable,  and  passionately 
longed  for  a return  to  her  native  country,  as  the  only  means  of 
deliverance  from  the  snares  with  which  she  saw  herself  beset. 
She  detested  French  society,  and  sought  with  eagerness  that  of 
her  more  serious  English  friends ; she  took  the  greatest  delight 
in  religious  exercises,  and  engaged  with  ardor  in  every  religious 
pursuit.  Yet  she  had  not  sufficient  courage  to  avow  her  senti- 
ments, nor  strength  of  mind  to  resist  the  sinful  practices  she  ab- 
horred. 

She  was  often  prevailed  upon,  by  what  she  called  the  absolute 
necessity  of  circumstances,  to  do  many  things  which  her  conscience 
condemned,  and  which  she  could  not  afterwards  reflect  upon  with- 
out great  mental  anguish.  In  this  state  of  mind  she  could  not 
be  happy ; but  she  endeavored  to  check  reflection,  and  generally 
avoided  everything  like  close  conversation  on  religious  subjects. 
Emily  perceived  the  conflict  of  her  mind,  and  felt  the  most  tender 
compassion  for  the  interesting  girl.  She  pointed  out  the  only 
means  of  overcoming  these  difficulties,  and  urged  her  to  an  entire 
surrender  of  heart  to  the  Saviour,  and  a conscientious  taking  up  of 
his  cross,  as  the  only  way  in  which  she  could  ever  obtain  peace  ; 
but  poor  Lydia  despondingly  pleaded  her  inability  to  overcome 
temptation  ; and,  as  she,  in  a great  measure,  neglected  the  source 
from  whence  alone  she  might  have  derived  strength  equal  to  her 
need,  she  naturally  remained  in  this  dark  and  comfortless  state, 
the  unavoidable  consequence  of  resisting  her  better  convictions. 

Little  Agnes  Beverley  was,  if  possible,  still  more  in  danger 
from  surrounding  allurements.  She  was  not  only  involved  in  all 
the  giddy  pursuits  of  her  companions:  she  not  only  renounced  all 
the  Christian  maxims  her  parents  had  endeavored  to  inculcate, 
but  she  also  seemed  alarmingly  prepossessed  in  favor  of  Roman 


48 


THE  FUNERAL. 


Catholic  doctrines.  It  was  often  distressing  to  hear  her  repeat 
the  arguments  she  had  overheard,  in  order  to  prove  those  disputed 
points  which  had  particularly  come  under  her  notice  ; these  she 
maintained  with  a pertinacity  which  would  hardly  yield  to  the 
authority  of  Scripture  evidence  ; and,  though  the  fear  of  being 
ridiculed  by  the  English  generally  induced  her,  at  last,  to  give 
up  the  contest,  Emily  saw,  with  great  uneasiness,  that  these  perni- 
cious errors  gained  daily  ground  in  her  mind,  and  superseded  those 
scriptural  principles,  which  she  felt  to  be  irksome  on  account  of 
their  strictness. 

Poor  Emily’s  mind  was  exceedingly  distresssd,  and  indeed 
almost  overwhelmed  with  grief,  as  she  thought  on  these  discou- 
raging prospects.  The  weight  of  anxiety  that  oppressed  her 
would  have  been  too  much  for  her  naturally  desponding  spirit, 
had  she  not  found  support  from  the  promises  of  the  gospel,  and 
some  degree  of  cheering  encouragement  from  Louisa  Selwyn  and 
Miss  Douglas.  The  former  had  too  much  good  sense  and  reli- 
gion, to  be  allured,  either  by  the  seductive  influence  of  Popish 
errors,  or  the  false  charms  of  youthful  dissipation  5 and  the  latter, 
notwithstanding  her  natural  reserve,  gave  the  most  promising  in- 
dications of  a mind  gradually  expanding  to  the  light  of  divine 
truth,  and  a heart  unconsciously  yielding  to  the  sweet  influence 
of  Christian  feeling.  She  was  a sincere  and  candid  inquirer,  and 
willing,  through  grace,  to  embrace  those  principles  which  a dili- 
gent study  of  her  Bible  pointed  out.  Louisa  had,  from'  the  first, 
taken  a decided  part  against  the  sinful  practices,  and  worldly 
spirit,  that  prevailed  in  the  school ; she  was  always  distrustful  of 
herself ; and,  as  she  rested  for  safety  on  an  Almighty  arm,  she 
Was  mercifully  preserved  from  the  assaults  of  temptation.  But 
it  is  not  sufficient  that  a Christian  should  refrain  from  actual 
transgressions,  and  avoid  the  society  and  amusements  of  the 
world ; he  must  cultivate  an  habitual  fervor  of  spirit,  a constant 
spirituality  of  mind,  an  intimate  communion  with  his  God,  if  he 
would  enjoy  the  light  of  his  countenance,  or  make  any  advances 
in  the  divine  life.  Incessant  watchfulness  is  necessary,  and  con- 
tinual supplies  of  wisdom,  grace,  and  strength,  must  be  sought  for 
by  earnest  prayer,  if  we  desire  to  walk  humbly  with  God  in  any 
Situation,  but  more  especially  in  those  where  every  surrounding 
object  is  calculated  to  ensnare  the  imagination,  and  draw  the 
heart  aside  from  the  service  of  God.  This  was  a lesson  which 
the  youthful  Louisa  had  not  yet  sufficiently  learned.  She  was 
truly  devoted  to  God,  and  earnestly  desirous  of  serving  him  ; but 
she  was  not  careful  to  maintain  a watchful  and  praying  spirit; 
and  the  natural  consequence  of  the  neglect  was,  the  gradual  de- 
cline of  religion  in  her  soul.  A distressing  coldness  and  languor 
insensibly  crept  into  her  duties ; she  no  longer  enjoyed  the  same 
delight  in  spiritual  things,  nor  the  same  freedom  of  access  to  the 


THE  FUNERAL. 


49 


throne  of  grace.  She  was  alarmed  and  discouraged  by  these  dif- 
ficulties, and  communicated  her  fears  and  trials  to  Emily. 

The  latter  was  too  well  acquainted  with  the  proneness  of  her 
own  heart  to  depart  from  God,  and  had  too  often  been  tried  by 
the  same  painful  indisposition  of  mind,  not  to  understand,  and 
sincerely  pity,  the  case  of  her  young  friend.  She  pointed  out  the 
only  remedy  for  the  diseases  of  the  soul ; the  blood  of  Jesus 
Christ.  She  encouraged  her  to  a renewed  application,  and  a 
cleaving  of  heart  to  that  gracious  Saviour,  assuring  her,  from  her 
own  experience,  as  well  as  from  the  declarations  of  Scripture, 
tjltliis  grace  was  all-sufficient  in  restoring  the  soul,  and  preserv- 
* ing  it  from  the  power  of  indwelling  corruption. 

Louisa  followed  her  friend’s  counsel,  and  returned  to  the  Rock 
of  her  salvation ; she  experienced  the  blessedness  of  waiting  upon 
God,  and  rejoiced  in  the  assurance  of  his  unchanging  faithful- 
ness. But  her  situation  and  employments  allowed  her  little  time 
for  reading  or  retirement  5 she  looked  too  much  to  herself,  and  too 
little  to  her  Saviour ; she  allowed  her  vigilance  to  relax,  and  the 
world  to  gain  ground;  she  grieved  her  Almighty  Friend,  and  he 
withdrew  the  light  of  his  countenance.  Deprived  of  all  spiritual 
comfort,  she  had  recourse  again  and  again  to  his  forgiving  mercy; 
but,  though  she  found  that  mercy  a never-failing  refuge,  she  was 
frequently  allowed  to  feel  the  consequences  of  her  unwatchful- 
ness,  by  being  left  to  walk  some  time  in  despondency  and  dark- 
ness. 

The  summer  was  now  entirely  past,  and  autumn  had  begun  to 
strip  the  trees  of  their  verdant  foliage.  The  monotony  of  school 
occupations  was  seldom  relieved  by  any  pleasurable  occurrence  ; 
but  Emily’s  anxious  observations  on  her  companions  furnished  an 
ample  field  for  the  exercise  of  every  varied  feeling.  She  watch- 
ed, with  affectionate  solicitude,  the  conduct  of  each,  and  the  most 
trivial  occurrences  were  often  fraught  with  the  deepest  interest 
to  her,  as  they  displayed  those  different  workings  of  the  mind, 
which  are  frequently  more  expressive  than  either  words  or 
actions 


5 


CHAPTER  VII. 


THE  PIOUS  ROMAN  CATHOLIC. 

Who  :f  among  you  that  feareth  the  Lord,  that  obeyeth  the  voice  of  his  set. 
van**,  that,  walketh  in  darkness,  and  hath  no  light  1 Let  him  trust  in  the  name 
of  the  Lord,  and  stay  upon  his  God.— Isaiah  l.  10. 

It  was  a dark  and  stormy  afternoon ; the  wind  howled  through  id^ 
half-leafless  trees  of  the  garden,  and  the  rain  occasionally  pelted 
against  the  windows  ; all  nature  seemed  to  wear  the  livery  of  sad- 
ness, as  if  dreading  the  approach  of  winter’s  iron  reign ; when 
Emily  observed  a group  of  young  ladies,  assembled  with  an  air 
of  solicitude  round  some  object  at  the  upper  end  of  the  school- 
room. She  approached  the  spot  to  inquire  the  cause  of  their  ap- 
parent anxiety,  and  beheld  Rose  de  Liancourt,  in  an  attitude  pe- 
culiarly expressive  of  suffering.  Her  head  was  reclining  on 
Louisa’s  shoulder  5 her  left  hand  was  strongly  pressed  against  her 
side,  and  the  other  concealed  her  eyes  ; she  was  perfectly  silent, 
but  the  ashy  paleness  of  her  cheek,  and  the  convulsive  motion 
that  occasionally  agitated  her  features,  gave  the  most  painful  in- 
dications of  suppressed  agony.  Emily  stood,  for  a moment,  mo- 
tionless with  alarm,  then,  approaching  her  friend,  she  tenderly 
inquired  if  the  pain  was  in  her  side,  and  if  something  could  not  be 
done  to  relieve  it.  Rose  half  raised  her  eyes,  and  faintly  articulat- 
ed, “ Oh  ! lead  me  to  my  room,  and  let  no  one  but  you  accompany 
me  ! ” Madame  d’Elfort  that  moment  entered  the  apartment,  and 
by  her  directions,  Mademoiselle  Laval,  who  had  been  kindly 
bending  over  the  suffering  girl,  supported  her  to  her  room,  with 
Emily’s  assistance.  The  pain  in  her  side  gradually  yielded  to 
the  influence  of  proper  remedies,  and  at  length  was  so  far  dimin- 
ished as  to  admit  of  her  lying  down  with  composure.  Emily 
brought  her  work  from  the  school-room,  and  sat  by  her  bed-side 
for  the  rest  of  the  evening.  Rose  was  now  sufficiently  recovered 
to  enter  into  conversation  ; and,  alluding  to  the  moment  when  she 
was  brought  from  the  school-room,  she  owned  that  the  anguish 
which  had  then  overpowered  her,  did  not  so  much  arise  from  the 
pain  she  endured,  as  from  the  fear  of  immediate  dissolution. 

“ I have  always  thought  that  I should  die  very  suddenly,”  ob- 
served she,  “ and  the  impression  was  then  so  strong  on  my  mind, 
that  I almost  wonder  I did  not  expire  with  terror.” 

“ Are  you  much  afraid  of  death  ?”  inquired  Emily,  in  a voice  of 
anxious  interest 

• 44  Oh  ! yes,  yes  ! but  why  do  you  ask  that  question  ? Is  not 

death  a most  appalling  thing  ? and  does  not  nature  shrink  with 
aorror  from  the  very  thought  of  its  approach  V} 


THE  PIOUS  ROMAN  CATHOLIC. 


51 


w It  is,  indeed,  dear  Rose,  an  event  of  the  most  solemn  impor- 
tance ; — but  what  is  it  which  makes  you  regard  it  with  so  much 
dread  ? Do  you  consider  it  in  the  light  of  a painful  separation 
from  those  you  love,  or  do  its  attendant  circumstances  appear  so 
chilling  and  dreadful  ?” 

“ Neither,  my  dear  Miss  Mortimer.  I know  that  the  heart 
must  bleed,  when  the  ties  of  nature  are  riven  asunder  ; but  it  is 
the  consequences  of  death,  which  appal  me,  when  I reflect  upon 
them.” 

“ It  is  certainly  an  awful  and  decisive  moment !”  said  Emily, 
with  a deep,  involuntary  sigh.  A short  silence  succeeded.  At 
length  Emily  resumed, — ■“  But  why  should  the  consequences  of 
death  seem  dreadful  to  the  Christian 

“ Why !”  repeated  Rose  with  astonishment.  “ Oh ! can  you  ask 
me  why  ? Is  there  not  a fearful  doom  awaiting  the  unprepared 
soul,  at  that  tribunal  before  which  we  must  inevitably  appear 
Her  countenance  became  paler,  as  she  uttered  these  words,  and  a 
slight  shuddering  seemed  to  agitate  her  frame. 

“ Blessed  be  God  !”  exclaimed  Emily,  clasping  her  hands  in 
grateful  emotion,  “ that  there  is  also  an  Almighty,  all-sufficient, 
and  all-merciful  Saviour,  to  shield  us  from  that  justly  merited 
doom,  and  receive  us  into  that  everlasting  rest,  which  His  blood 
and  righteousness  have  purchased  for  guilty  sinners !” 

The  bright  glow  of  Christian  hope  and  confidence  illumined  the 
usually  pale  countenance  of  Emily,  as  her  mind  dwelt  on  that 
glorious  state  of  felicity,  which  awaits  the  redeemed  in  the  pre- 
sence of  their  Saviour ; but  no  answering  expression  of  delight  or 
comfort  appeared  in  the  looks  of  Rose.  Her  religion  taught  her 
that  the  soul  must  be  purified,  after  death , from  the  sins  and  im- 
perfections it  retained ; and  that  this  was  to  be  effected  by  a pro- 
cess of  purgatorial  suffering.  Her  conscience  was  so  far  enlight- 
ened, as  to  see  something  of  the  hateful  nature  of  sin,  and  to  feel 
that  her  sins  were  such,  as  to  require  not  only  an  infinite  atone- 
ment, but  the  utmost  cleansing  of  the  heart.  She  had  but  a very 
partial  and  clouded  view  of  the  gospel  plan  of  salvation,  of  that 
“ blood  which  cleanseth  from  all  sin,”  and  that  grace  which  sanc- 
tifies the  most  polluted  heart — it  is  not,  therefore,  surprising,  that 
her  awakened  soul  should  shudder  at  the  thought  of  appearing 
before  that  holy  God,  wffio,  she  knew,  “ was  of  purer  eyes  than  to 
behold  iniquity.” 

Emily  looked  with  pity  on  her  dejected  countenance,  and  at- 
tempted to  lead  her  mind  to  brighter  views.  “ My  dear  Rose,  if 
we  seek  the  Lord,  He  wrill  not  desert  us  in  the  hour  of  trial ; and 
if  we  are  his  by  adoption,  we  shall  not  be  cast  off  at  the  end  of 
our  journey.  ‘ There  is  no  condemnation  to  them  who  are  in 
Christ  Jesus,’  and  the  Saviour  himself  has  said.  1 He  that  believeth 
in  me  hath  everlasting  life.’  ” 


LIBRARY  ~ 

UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 


52 


THE  PIOUS  ROMAN  CATHOLIC. 


“ True,  Miss  Mortimer  ; but  who  can  tell  me  if  I belong  to  that 
blessed  number  % That  awfully  important  question  can  only  be 
answered  at  my  death  and  oh ! the  uncertainty  of  that  point  1 
This  it  is  which  torments  me,  which  makes  me  shrink  from  dis- 
solution, and  which,  I feel,  will  make  me  miserable,  to  the  last 
moment  of  my  existence  ! Oh ! how  shall  I enter  the  dark  valley 
of  death  ? How  shall  I plunge  into  a fearful  eternity,  with  such 
a load  of  guilt  on  my  soul,  and  with  this  distracting  uncertainty 
resting  on  my  future  fate  ?” 

Her  feelings  seemed  wrought  up  almost  to  agony,  and  those  of 
Emily  were  scarcely  less  agitated.  There  was  something  so  ap- 
palling in  the  picture  she  had  drawn,  that  the  soul  shuddered  at 
the  view.  Emily  could  scarcely  conceive  anything  more  awful, 
than  uncertainty  in  a dying  hour.  She,  however,  attempted  to 
shake  off  the  painful  impression,  and  sought  for  some  way  of  com- 
forting her  friend,  without  entering  into  a discussion  of  those  sen- 
timents which  she  was  bound  not  to  interfere  with. 

44  Do  you  then  think,  Rose,  that  the  momentous  question  you 
have  mentioned  can  only  be  resolved  after  death?  Is  there  no 
possibility  of  ascertaining  our  personal  interest  in  the  salvation  of 
Christ,  on  this  side  the  grave 

Rose  half-raised  her  eyes,  with  a mournful  expression.  41  Per- 
haps,” said  she,  hesitatingly,  “ some  eminent  saints  might  be  so  far 
favored ; but  then  they  must  be  perfectly  free  from  all  sin,  before 
they  can  have  that  assurance  5 and  oh  ! I feel  that  that  will  never 
be  my  case  in  this  world !” 

Emily's  indignation  burst  forth,  at  this  development  of  Popish 
doctrine.  “ Thank  God  !”  exclaimed  she,  44  that  such  religion  is 

not  mine ! And  oh ! would  to  God,  my  dearest  Rose  !” she 

stopped,  terrified  at  the  indiscretion  of  her  words,  and  instinctive- 
ly looked  round  the  apartment.  Recovering  from  her  confusion, 
she  perceived  that  Rose  looked  hurt  and  offended.  Anxious  to 
repair,  if  possible,  the  mischief  her  hasty  expressions  had  caused, 
she  said,  44  Excuse  me,  my  dear  friend  5 I did  not  intend  to  wound 
you,  or  make  any  improper  reflections  ; but  my  feelings  often  hurry 
me  beyond  the  limits  of  prudence.” 

~ Rose  was  satisfied  with  the  apology  ; but,  as  the  gloom  of  de- 
spondency still  sat  on  her  countenance,  Emily  could  not  forbear 
making  one  more  observation. 

“ Allow  me,  my  love,  to  say,  that  the  Protestant  religion,  which 
deduces  its  doctrines  simply  from  the  pure  word  of  God,  presents 
to  the  view  of  the  Christian  an  infinitely  brighter  prospect.  It 
tells  us,  from  the  Bible,  that 4 the  Spirit  beareth  witness  with  our 
spirit,  that  we  are  the  children  of  God  ; and  if  children,  then  heirs-; 
heirs  of  God,  and  joint-heirs  with  Christ.’  St.  Paul  says, 4 We 
know  that  if  our  earthly  house  of  this  tabernacle  were  dissolved, 
we  have  a building  of  God,  a house  not  made  with  hands,  eternal 


THE  PIOUS  ROMAN  CATHOLIC. 


53 


m tile  heavens.’  This,  dear  Rose,  is  not  the  language  of  doubt  or 
uncertainty,  but  of  triumphant  assurance  • and  many,  many  are  the 
delightful  instances  that  have  been  witnessed,  of  Christians  leav- 
ing the  world,  not  only  with  a firm  and  well-grounded  confidence, 
but  the  most  blissful  anticipations  of  a glorious  immortality.” 

Rose  shook  her  head,  with  an  expression  of  mournful  incredu- 
lity; then,  feeling  that  they  had  both  been  trespassing  on  a sub- 
ject, she  requested  that  it  might  be  dropped  ; and  they  both  sank 
into  thoughtful  and  constrained  silence. 

Most  deeply  did  Emily  feel  for  this  sweet  girl,  who  was  thus 
kept  in  bondage  and  terror,  by  the  gloomy  dogmas  of  an  anti- 
christian  church.  How  ardently  did  she  wish  that  she  could 
open  her  Bible,  and  show  her  the  unscriptural  nature  of  those 
comfortless  doctrines  ; but  such  a step  was  impossible,  and  with 
a sigh  she  changed  the  conversation.  Friendship  was  the  next 
subject  introduced,  and  Rose  spoke  of  a departed  sister,  whose 
virtues,  sisterly  affection,  and  piety,  she  dwelt  upon  with  all  the 
warmth  of  tender  and  mournful  recollection.  Emily  had  heard 
from  others  the  most  admirable  character  of  this  young  lady,  who 
had  died  about  two  years  before  : her  piety,  in  particular,  was  the 
subject  of  the  highest  encomiums,  and  she  was  often  proposed  as  a 
model  to  the  young  persons  who  had  witnessed  her  short,  but 
bright  and  exemplary  career.  She,  therefore,  listened  with  pecu- 
liar pleasure  to  the  affectionate  tribute  of  a sister’s  fond  regrets  ; 
but  there  was,  in  the  countenance  of  Rose,  an  expression  of  some- 
thing more  than  even  the  most  impassioned  sorrow,  whenever 
she  spoke  of  this  beloved  sister.  Her  cheek  assumed  an  ashy 
paleness  ; her  lips  quivered  with  suppressed  emotion  ; and  the  al- 
most convulsive  agitation  of  her  features,  painfully  indicated  in- 
tense mental  suffering. 

She  had  been  dwelling  on  the  excellences  of  Maria’s  character, 
and  her  tears  flowed  in  such  unrestrained  abundance,  that  Emily 
had  in  vain  attempted  every  method  of  administering  consolation. 
“ My  dearest  Rose,”  said  she,  affectionately,  “ let  me  entreat  you 
to  remember,  that  excessive  sorrow  is  sinful.  If  the  friends  we 
lament  were  pious,  as  I am  persuaded  your  sister  was  ; — if  they 
belonged  to  the  family  of  God,  we  ought  not  to  ‘ sorrow  as  those 
without  hope  ;’  for  the  objects  of  our  affection  are  safe  and  happy  ; 
and  if  we  follow  the  same  blessed  course,  we  shall  soon  be  re- 
united to  them  in  the  regions  of  eternal  bliss.” 

“ Oh  ! but,”  exclaimed  Rose,  in  a half-stifled  voice,  “ if  those 
beloved  friends  should  have  died  with  any  un^onfessed  sin  on 
their  conscience ! — if  they  should  not  have  been  sufficiently  holy 

to  enter  heaven ! — if  they  should  still  be  in  purgatory  !” 

The  idea  seemed  almost  too  agonizing  for  her  mind  to  endure  : — 
she  clasped  her  hands  tightly  on  her  bosom,  as  if  to  repress  the~ 
violent  palpitations  of  her  heart.  “ Oh ! my  poor  Maria ! how 


54 


THE  PIOUS  ROMAN  CATHOLIC. 


constantly  and  fervently  do  I pray  for  her  !”■ — then,  burying  her 
face  ?n  her  handkerchief,  she  sobbed  aloud  with  convulsive  an- 
guish. 

Emily  hung  over  her  unhappy  friend,  and  wept  in  sympathy 
and  grief.  Her  heart  burned  to  unmask  these  detestable  super- 
stitions ; but  she  durst  not  give  her  feelings  utterance,  and  could 
only  lift  up  her  thoughts  in  silent  prayer.  Rose  was  now  becom- 
ing more  composed,  but  a step  was  heard  in  the  adjoining  room ; 
the  mourner  hastily  dried  her  tears,  and,  on  the  entrance  of  Mad- 
ame d’Elfort,  Emily  retired  to  her  own  apartment. 

Here  she  sank  on  her  knees,  and,  after  having  fervently  prayed 
that  the  Holy  Spirit,  the  Comforter,  might  be  granted  to  her  friend, 
to  dispel  the  darkness  from  her  mind,  and  introduce  her  into  the 
glorious  freedom  of  the  gospel,  she  sat  down  near  the  window 
that  overlooked  the  garden,  to  reflect  on  the  incidents  of  that  even- 
ing. Emily  had  become  somewhat  inclined  to  melancholy.  A 
deep  sense  of  her  own  sinfulness,  and  perhaps  the  habit  of  dwell 
ing  too  much  upon  it,  frequently  obscured  the  glories  of  redemp- 
tion from  her  view,  and  united  with  a recently-contracted  lowness 
of  spirits,  to  produce  the  most  distressing  doubts  in  her  mind.  It 
was  but  seldom  indeed  that  she  could  “ rejoice  in  the  Lord,”  and 
her  confidence  was,  at  all  times,  rather  a trembling  hope,  than  a 
settled  and  joyful  assurance.  She  looked  too  much  to  her  own 
sins  and  short-comings,  and  too  little,  perhaps,  to  her  all-sufficient 
Saviour ; and  the  dejection  attendant  on  these  imperfect  views, 
would  not  always  allow  her  to  receive  comfort  from  the  “ great 
and  precious  promises”  of  the  gospel.  She  had,  that  evening, 
been  urging  those  promises  on  the  attention  of  another,  and  dwel- 
ling on  that  blessed  “ full  assurance  of  faith,”  which  is  the  privi- 
lege of  every  Christian.  She  felt,  however,  that  she  herself  could 
not  then  realize  them ; — that  she  herself  did  not  enjoy  that  assur- 
ance ; — and  the  enemy  of  souls  was  busily  employed,  in  taking 
advantage  of  the  moment,  by  suggesting  that  “ she  had  neither  part 
nor  lot  in  the  matter.”  The  hour,  also,  and  the  scene  that  pre- 
sented itself  to  her  view  from  the  window,  had  a considerable  ten- 
dency to  sadden  her  feelings.  Emily  was  an  enthusiastic  admirer 
of  nature,  and  her  mind  very  frequently  took  the  tone*  of  the 
scenery  and  prospects  around  her.  This  disposition  is  often  found 
in  persons  of  ardent  imaginations,  and  whose  characters  are  slight- 
ly tinged  with  enthusiasm  and  romance  ; and,  though  it  may  be 
exceedingly  prejudicial  in  its  effects,  yet  there  is  a nameless  charm 
attending  it,  which  gives  it  an  almost  incredible  power  over  the 
affections. 

In  the  present  instance,  indeed,  there  was  something  in  the 
evening,  which  wonderfully  suited  the  melancholy  of  Emily’s 
feelings.  The  storm  was  almost  hushed,  but  the  state  of  the  at 
mosphere  seemed  to  presage  its  speedy  return.  Twilight  had 


THE  PIOUS  ROMAN  CATHOLIC. 


55 


spread  her  dusky  robe  on  every  surrounding  object,  and  night  was 
fast  approaching  to  close  the  scene.  The  gentle  moon  had  risen 
in  the  firmament,  but  was  obstructed  in  her  progress  by  a thick, 
heavy  mist,  which  completely  veiled  the  beauties  of  the  sky,  and 
through  which  she  was  at  times  seen,  struggling  for  freedom ; now 
emerging  from  it  in  pale,  watery  brightness,  then  disappearing 
again  from  the  view,  behind  its  envious  shroud.  A rising  gale 
was  heard,  sometimes  shaking  with  fitful  gusts  the  almost  leafless 
trees,  then  moaning  with  a hollow  sound  along  the  deserted  walks 
of  the  garden.  A few  heavy  rain-drops  occasionally  fell  in  the 
mournful  blast ; and  all  nature  seemed  enveloped  in  a shroud  of 
gloom  and  sadness. 

Emily  rested  her  head  against  the  open  window’,  and  for  some 
time  resigned  her  mind  to  its  own  painful  reflections.  The  scene 
that  lay  before  her  seemed,  in  a very  striking  manner,  to  picture 
forth  the  state  of  her  friend’s  soul.  The  rays  of  divine  truth  did, 
indeed,  in  some  measure,  illumine  the  darkness  there ; but  not 
enough  to  produce  comfort,  or  dispel  the  gloomy  mists  of  error 
and  superstition.  The  deep  and  sad  moaning  of  the  gale,  seemed 
a fit  emblem  of  her  desponding  feelings.  “ And  alas !”  thought 
Emily,  “ there  seems  no  way  open,  at  present,  by. which  the  hea- 
venly light  may  pierce  those  almost  impenetrable  clouds  !” 

From  the  subject  of  Rose’s  distress,  her  mind  recurred  to  her 
own  case.  Faith  and  unbelief  were  struggling  for  pre-eminence  ; 
but  the  sweet  light  of  hope  seemed  gradually  dawning  on  her 
soul.  She  felt  that  if  “ her  heart  was  not  right  before  God,”  she 
at  least  desired  earnestly  to  have  it  probed  ; and  while  the  prayer 
of  David  burst  from  her  lips,  “ Search  me,  O God  ! and  try  my* 
heart ; prove  me,  and  examine  my  ways  ; and  see  if  there  be  any 
wTay  of  wickedness  in  me,  and  lead  me  in  the  way  everlasting,” 
she  felt  the  tears  of  softened  feeling  silently  moisten  her  cheek, 
and  a sweet,  filial  confidence,  succeeded  to  the  cheerless  despon- 
dency of  her  soul.  “ My  Father  1”  she  exclaimed,  “ thou  art  the 
guide  of  my  youth  !”  These  words,  uttered  with  a sentiment  of 
renewred  trust,  were  like  balm  to  her  wounded  spirit ; she  still 
wept,  but  her  tears  were  those  of  tender  and  almost  joyful  emo- 
tion ; and  the  moon  at  that  moment,  bursting  in  triumphant  splen- 
dor from  the  vanishing  mists,  seemed  to  confirm  the  delightful 
assurance,  that  “ the  shadows  would  soon  flee  away”  from  every 
mind  which  was  seeking  for  the  light  of  divine  truth. 

Emily  had  remained  a lorjg  time,  absorbed  in  these  various  feel- 
ings, when  a soft  step  entered  the  room.  It  was  Louisa  Selwyn ; 
-—she  perceived  that  her  friend  had  been  in  tears,  and  anxiously 
inquired  the  cause.  “ It  was  not  grief,  dear  Louisa,  but  tender- 
ness, and  even  pleasure.  I was  thinking  of  the  mercy  of  God, 
and  my  spirits  were  overcome.  I have  passed  some  very  painful, 
but  very  sweet  moments,  this  evening  ” • 


56 


THE  PIOUS  ROMAN  CATHOLIC. 


Louisa  turned  away  with  a sigh,  and  was  thoughtful  for 
a moment  “I  came,”  said  she  at  length,  “to  invite  you  into 
the  garden.  The  night  has  now  become  tolerably  calm,  and 
I thought  you  might  not  feel  disinclined  for  a walk.  Lydia  and 
Helen  are  there  already ; for  you  know  we  are  favorites  with  Made* 
moiselle  Laval  5 and  we  obtained  permission  for  ten  minutes, 
though  not  without  some  difficulty.” 

Emily  readily  assented,  and  they  descended  to  the  garden. 
Having  met  Lydia  and  Helen,  they  walked  for  some  time  in  com- 
pany, till  they  came  to  an  open  terrace,  which  gave  them  an  en- 
chanting view  of  the  surrounding  objects.  The  moon  was  sailing 
in  triumphant  loveliness  through  a sky  of  the  deepest  blue,  yet 
greatly  varied  by  numerous  flying  clouds,  which  occasionally 
veiled  her  face,  but  from  which  she  always  emerged  with  renewed 
strength  and  glory.  “ Just  such  is  the  Christian,”  said  Emily,  in 
reply  to  an  observation  from  Lydia.  “ His  mind  is  often  clouded 
by  doubts  and  fears,  and  enveloped  in  the  darkness  produced  by 
remaining  sin  and  corruption  5 but,  through  the  reflected  rays  of 
his  glorious  Redeemer,  he  triumphs  over  all  these  difficulties. 
Like  the  moon,  he  is  dark  himself,  but  the  ‘ Sun  of  Righteousness’ 
is  his  glory,  and  his  everlasting  light.” 

Emily  spoke  with  a tone  of  voice  wffiich  expressed  the  elevation 
of  her  feelings  ; and  she  saw  that  the  subject  was  not  devoid  of 
interest  to  those  who  stood  near  her. 

Helen  Douglas  said  nothing,  but  she  gazed  steadfastly  on  her 
friend’s  countenance,  with  evident  affection  and  pleasure. 

Louisa  also  remained  silent,  but  her  thoughts  seemed  to  be  of  a 
painful  nature  5 she  pressed  the  arm  of  Emily  close  to  her,  gazed 
on  the  sky  for  a few  moments,  then  fixed  her  eyes  on  the  ground, 
and  sighed  deeply.  Lydia,  however,  could  not  forbear  giving 
utterance  to  her  feelings.  “ O,  Emily !”  she  exclaimed,  “ how  hap- 
py you  must  be  ! But  how  is  it  that  I cannot  understand  your 
sentiments  % What  is  the  reason  that  1 cannot  feel  as  you  do  ?” 

“ My  dear  Lydia,  to  enjoy  religion  we  must  experience  its  pow- 
er ; we  must  be  desirous  of  devoting  ourselves  to  God,  before  we 
can  look  up  to  him  with  confidence  and  love.” 

“ Well ; I do  wish  to  love  and  serve  God,  but  I cannot  do  it 
there  seems  to  be  an  insurmountable  barrier  between  me  and  re 
ligion.  I often  think  it  will  never  be  otherwise.  Do  you  think 
it  ever  will 

“ I hope  and  pray  that  it  may ; but  remember,  my  dear  girl, 
there  must  be  no  reserves ; — they  who  will  follow  Christ,  must  learn 
to  ‘deny  therhselves,  and  to  take  up  his  cross.’” 

Lydia  pressed  her  hand  thoughtfully  to  her  forehead,  and  the 
friends  proceeded  towards  an  elevated  seat,  at  a little  distance 
from  the  spot  w’here  they  had  previously  been  standing.  It  was 
situated  on  a gentle-rising  mound,  and  shaded  by  a drooping  ash. 


THE  PIOUS  ROMAN  CATHOLIC. 


57 


and  a beautiful  laburnum.  As  they  ascended  the  si  Dping  path, 
they  were  ttartled  by  the  sight  of  a figure,  reclining  against  the 
tree.  They  stopped  almost  instinctively,  and  Lydia  exclaimed 
with  surprise,  “ It  is  my  sister !”  Caroline  started  at  the  sound 
of  voices,  and  hastily  rising  from  her  seat,  attempted  to  conceal  a 
book  she  had  been  reading.  Emily  gently  chid  her  for  being  out 
&o  late  without  a bonnet,  and  then  attempted  to  draw  her  into 
conversation  ; but  her  fluctuating  color  announced  the  most  dis- 
tressing confusion  ; and,  slipping  away  from  her  friends,  she  took 
the  easiest  opportunity  of  hurrying  into  the  house. 

Emily’s  eyes  followed  her  retreating  steps,  and  a thousand  con- 
fused and  painful  thoughts  rushed  across  her  mind.  She,  how- 
ever, took  no  notice  of  Lydia’s  conjectures  on  the  subject,  but  pen- 
sively led  the  way  back  to  the  salon , and  left  her  companions 
there. 

Before  retiring  to  rest  that  evening,  she  determined  to  request 
some  explanation  from  Caroline.  “ My  dear  girl,”  said  she,  affec- 
tionately pressing  her  hand,  “ I can  no  longer  endure  the  painful 
reserve  which  has  for  some  time  subsisted  between  us.  It  is  en- 
tirely on  your  side,  for  you  know  that  I have  sought,  by  every 
demonstration  of  attachment,  to  win  back  your  estranged  confi- 
dence. Yet,  distressing  as"  your  coldness  is  to  me,  I think  I could 
sooner  bear  it,  if  I did  not  see  you  unhappy.  But  I am  sure  you 
have  some  secret  sorrow  preying  on  your  heart,  which  you  wish 
to  conceal  from  me.  O Caroline  ! this  is  not  as  it  used  to  be  ! 
Where  are  those  happy  days,  when  we  walked  in  sweet  commu- 
nion, and  when  we  seemed  to  have  but  one  begirt,  one  interest,  and 
one  common  feeling  ?”  She  was  too  much  overcome  to  say  more ; 
and  dropping  her  head  on  Caroline’s  shoulder,  she  gave  way  to 
her  emotion  in  a burst  of  tears. 

Caroline  was  evidently  much  agitated  5 she  strained  her  weep- 
ing cousin  to  her  heart,  and  replied,  in  a hurried  voice,  “ Dearest 

Emily,  you  quite  misunderstand  me.  I am  not  unhap , at 

least,  l am  not  silent  from  want  of  affection.  Do  not  be  uneasy 
on  my  account.  Perhaps  the  time  may  come,  when  I shall  be 
able  to  tell  you  everything ; meanwhile,  let  me  entreat  that  you 
will  not  question  me.” 

Emily  felt  completely  checked,  by  this  evident  determination 
not  to  satisfy  her  anxious  inquiries  5 and  she  could  not  forbear 
v/eeping  at  this  change  in  the  conduct  of  her  cousin.  She  found 
that,  instead  of  regaining  her  confidence,  this  last  step  had  only 
increased  the  distance  between  them ; for  Caroline  now  shunned 
every  opportunity,  which  might  have  led  to  a renewal  of  the  con- 
versation 


CHAPTER  V HI 


THE  GREY  SISTER®. 

I bear  them  record,  that  they  have  a zeal  of  God,  but  not  according  to  know* 

ledge. — Romans  x.  2. 

Lydia’s  cough  had  lately  returned,  and  her  sister’s  attention  was 
soon  absorbed,  by  fears  which  this  symptom  of  her  former  indis- 
position excited.  The  affectionate  heart  of  Caroline  was  deeply 
alive  to  everything  which  affected,  in  the  slightest  degree,  the  per- 
sons she  loved ; and  the  mysterious  gloom  which  had  lately  hung 
on  her  brow,  immediately  gave  place  to  the  expression  of  tender 
anxiety.  She  seemed  to  have  forgotten  everything,  but  the  safety 
and  comfort  of  this  beloved  sister.  Once  more  kind  and  engaging, 
she  seemed  to  be  herself  again,  while  she  strove,  by  every  affec- 
tionate effort,  to  cheer  the  sometimes  drooping  spirits  of  Lydia, 
and  promote  that  recovery  of  strength,  which  was  so  desirable  for 
the  interesting  girl.  Emily  watched  her  varying  feelings,  as  they 
were  alternately  affected  by  hope  and  fear, — rejoiced  at  the  return- 
ing freedom  with  which  she  now  conversed  on  every  subject  but 
one,  and  endeavored  to  anticipate  the  time,  when  every  cloud 
should  at  dength  vanish  away. 

Proper  medical  treatment,  under  the  divine  blessing,  at  length 
subdued  those  alarming  symptoms  which  had  threatened  serious 
consequences  to  the  health  of  Lydia.  Exercise  in  the  open  air 
was  strongly  recommended.  She  therefore,  whenever  the  wea- 
ther was  fine,  walked  out,  under  the  care  of  Madame  d’Elfort,  or 
one  of  the  teachers,  and  generally  accompanied  either  by  her  sis- 
ter or  cousin. 

It  was  during  one  of  those  excursions,  that  Madame  d’Elfort 
proposed  paying  a visit  to  the  “ Sosurs  de  la  Charite”  or  Grey  Sis- 
ters, as  they  are  usually  called.  The  young  people  had  heard  of 
these  Religieuses , who  had  an  establishment  not  far  from  Madame 
d’Elfort’s  house ; and,  as  they  had  often  seen  them  in  the  street, 
and  their  costume  and  character  had  excited  great  curiosity  in 
their  minds,  they  joyfully  accepted  the  proposal,  which  promised 
to  make  them  better  acquainted  with  so  interesting  an  order  ot 
nuns. 

The  Grey  sisters  belong  to  the  order  of  St.  Vincent  de  Paule, 
They  devote  themselves  to  the  relief  of  the  sick,  the  poor  and  the 
afflicted.  Their  business  is  to  seek  out  misery  in  its  most  retired 
haunts,  and  to  spend  their  days  in  administering  to  the  wants  of 
the  unfortunate.  Their  vows  are  annually  renewed,  and  there  is 
a certain  period  allowed  them,  at  the  end  of  every  year,  for  delibe- 
ration, before  they  again  contract  the  usual  engagement.  It  hap 


THE  GREY  SISTERS.  59 

pened  to  be  at  this  time,  that  Madame  d’Elfort,  Emily,  and  Lydia 
went  to  pay  them  a visit. 

They  entered  a small  shop,  plentifully  furnished  with  drugs  of 
all  kinds  ; for  the  sisters  exercised  the  science  of  Pharmacy  in  the 
utmost  perfection,  and  not  only  sold  medicines  for  the  benefit  of 
the  institution,  but  distributed  them  gratis  to  the  poor.  Emily 
and  Lydia  were  immediately -struck  with  the  extreme  neatness 
that  reigned  in  every  pa#  of  the  establishment.  “ How  nicely 
everything  is  arranged  !”  whispered  Lydia  to  her  cousin  ; “ Oh, 
how  it  reminds  me  of  dear,  happy  England !”  Emily  gave  her  a 
smile  of  assent,  and  followed  Madame  d’Elfort  to  the  counter. 
Behind  it  stood  a middle  aged  woman,  of  a placid  and  agreeable 
countenance,  and  distinguished  by  that  peculiar  dress  which  they 
had  so  often  observed  in  the  street.  It  consisted  of  a coarse  black 
woollen  garment,  a white  handkerchief  and  apron,  and  a large  cap, 
of  a singular  form,  the  long  ends  of  which  were  turned  up,  and 
then  again  allowed  to  fall  over,  in  a manner  certainly  not  very  grace- 
ful, but  to  which  novelty,  and  the  interest  excited  by  the  wear- 
er’s character,  seemed  to  impart  something  like  a charm. 

Madame  d’Elfort  approached  the  nun,  and  addressed  her  with 
familiar  kindness.  “ My  dear  sister,”  said  she,  “ I have  brought 
you  two  of  my  pupils,  who  are  exceedingly  enchanted  with  your 
mode  of  life,  and  very  desirous  of  becoming  better  acquainted  with 
you.  We  should  be  glad  to  rest  a little  in  your  parlor,  and  if  sis- 
ter Lucie  is  not  gone  out,  I shall  have  much  pleasure  in  convers- 
ing with  her.”  * 

The  nun  bowed  in  a graceful  manner,  and  moved  towards  an  " 
inner  door.  As  she  passed  by  Emily  she  addressed  her  with  a 
smile : “ Mademoiselle  has  some  knowledge,  I presume,  of  our 
order,  and  its  objects.” 

“ A little,”  replied  Emily,  “ and  I very  much  approve  the  latter. 

It  must,  however,  I think,  frequently  prove  a great  trial  of  forti- 
tude, and  require  peculiar  support  from  heaven.” 

“ It  does  indeed,”  rejoined  the  nun,  “ but  we  bear  it  all  with 
cheerfulness ; for  our  motive  is  the  love  of  God,  and  that  sweetens 
every  painful  circumstance.” 

Emily’s  eyes  filled  with  tears ; this  was  a language  peculiarly 
affecting  to  her  heart ; a*id  it  was  the  first  sentiment  of  the  kina 
she  had  yet  heard  from  a French  person. 

“ It  is  true,”  said  she,  with  animation,  “ that  .we  can  never  do 
enough  for  him  who  has  done  so  much  for  us  and  she  passed 
with  Madame  d’Elfort,  into  the  little  inner  apartment. 

Here  a young  woman  was  sitting  near  a window,  and  rose  on 
their  entrance.  She  seemed  about  twenty-two,  and  the  visitors 
could  not  but  admire  the  uncommon  loveliness  of  her  person. 
There  was  an  air  of  sadness  in  her  countenance,  which  immedi  - 
afely  interested  the  feelings  of  Emily  ; and  the  graceful  elegance 


60 


THE  GREY  SISTERS. 


of  her  manners  denoted  her  a person  of  no  common  education. 
She  had  evidently  been  weeping,  though  she  instantly  assumed  a 
tone  of  cordiality  and  cheerfulness.  Madame  d’Elfort  took  her 
hand,  with  affectionate  freedom,  but  started  at  sight  of  the  teais 
which  still  glistened  in  her  dark  blue  eyes. 

“My  dearest  Lucie,”  exclaimed  she,  “ what  can  be  the  matter  1 
You  have  been  in  tears  V' 

“ Oh ! it  was  nothing  of  any  consequence, — nothing  really  pain- 
ful, at  least,”  replied  the  interesting  religicuse. 

“ Yet  I have  seldom  seen  you  weep,  sister  Lucie,  and  your  tears 
must  have  had  some  cause.” 

“ I am,  perhaps,  very  foolish,  my  dear  Madame  d’Elfort ; but  ] 
will  tell  you  what  affected  me,  and  you  will  see  that  there  is  no 
reason  for  your  anxiety.  Our  annual  vow  expired  last  Monday, 
and  these  are  the  intermediate  days,  during  which  we  are  to  de- » 
cide  upon  the  renewal  of  the  engagement.  I may  indeed  say, 
that  they  are  the  only  miserable  days  in  the  year  to  me ; and  I 
never  longed  so  much  for  anything,  as  I do  for  their  termination. 
The  bond  which  unites  me  to  Jesus  Christ  and  his  church  seems 
to  be  dissolved  : I no  longer  appear  to  belong  to  him,  and  the  very 
idea  is  fraught  with  inexpressible  anguish.  I have  scarcely  slept 
since  the  commencement  of  this  dreary  interim , and  shall  not  en 
joy  one  moment’s  peace  or  pleasure,  ’till  the  re-uniting  of  the  sev- 
ered tie  restores  me  to  the  blessed  service  I would  not  quit  for  a 
crown.” 

Sister  Lucie  wiped  the  starting  tears  from  her  eyes,  as  she 
ceased  speaking,  and  Madame  d’Elfort  cast  on  her  pupils  a look  of 
unutterable  meaning.  Emily  gazed  for  a moment,  with  surprise 
and  almost  veneration,  at  the  beautiful  enthusiast  before  her ; a 
crowd  of  confused  and  indefinable  feelings  succeeded  each  other 
rapidly  in  her  mind ; and  she  could  only  return  the  pressure  of 
Lydia’s  hand,  and  cast  her  eyes  on  the  ground,  fearful  of  betraying 
the  sensations  which  she  felt  ought  not  to  be  disclosed. 

“My  dear  Lucie,”  observed  Madame  d’Elfort,  seating  herself 
beside  the  religimse , “ I am  glad  it  is  nothing  more  serious  ; but  you 
really  quite  alarmed  me.  Remember,  my  love,  that  external  vows 
can  add  nothing  to  the  strength  of  that  heavenly  bond,  by  which 
you  are  united  to  the  Lord;  your  heart  and  soul  are  devoted  to 
his  cause,  and  he  will  only  esteem  your  services  the  more  for  their 
being  voluntary,  and  reward  your  attachment  to  the  church  and 
himself  with  the  greater  liberality. — But  come,”  continued  she,* 
presenting  Emily  and  Lydia,  “ you  must  alldw  me  to  introduce 
two  of  my  pupils,  who  are  very  great  admirers  of  your  virtues 
and  devotedness.” 

The  nun  turned  towards  them,  with  an  air  of  peculiar  vivacity 
and  frankness,  and  made  several  inquiries,  which  led  to  a general 
conversation.  Her  language  was  elegant,  yet  simple;  her  obser- 


THE  GREY  SISTERS. 


61 


rations  full  of  intelligence  ; and  there  was  an  expression  of  sensi- 
bility in  everything  she  said,  which  threw  an  indescribable  charm 
over  her  interesting  figure.  Emily  and  Lydia  could  not  help  fre- 
quently glancing  at  her  face,  and  felt  irresistibly  attracted  by  this 
singular  being. 

Madame  d’Elfort  conversed  with  her,  on  the  different  scenes  of 
suffering  and  misery  she  daily  witnessed  ; and  sister  Lucie  spoke 
of  her  labors  among  the  poor,  with  an  enthusiasm  which  soon 
made  its  way  to  the  hearts  of  her  youthful  auditors.  Emily  asked 
herself,  as  she  looked  at  her  glowing  countenance — u What  is  the 
spring  from  whence  flows  all  this  devotedness  of  heart  and  life  1 
Is  it  genuine  piety,  or  dark-minded  superstition  ? — is  it  scriptural 
love  to  God  and  man,  springing  from  a vital  principle  of  grace 
in  the  soul, — or  a slavish,  self-righteous  hope,  of  securing  heaven 
by  such  works  ?”  There  was  too  much  reason  to  fear  the  latter* 
from  the  corrupt  and  anti-scriptural  tenets  of  the  church  to  which 
sister  Lucie  belonged  ; yet  there  was  something  so  apparently 
humble  and  self-denying  in  her  life  and  character,  and  she  spoke 
so  sweetly  of  love  to  God,  as  softening  and  hallowing  every  pain- 
ful duty,  till  it  became  a source  of  the  purest  delight,  that  Emily 
could  not  but  indulge  the  pleasing  hope,  that  she  might  be  a sin- 
cere and  devoted  follower  of  the  Lamb. 

After  half-an-hour’s  conversation,  the  visitors  rose  to  depart. 
Sister  Lucie  took  the  hands  of  Emily  and  Lydia,  and,  pressing  them 
in  a manner  which  denoted  the  deepest  feeling,  said,  with  a half- 
sorrowful smile,  “Let  me  hope  that  I shall  have  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  you  occasionally.  I should  be  happy  indeed,  if  I could  be 
the  means  of  guiding  such  sweet  lambs  to  the  fold  of  the  go^d 
Shepherd.”  Emily  returned  the  pressure  in  silence,  and  hurried 
away.  There  was  a sort  of  fascination  in  everything  the  religi - 
euse  uttered ; she  felt  that  her  heart  was  too  much  moved, — that 
there  was  danger  in  remaining  longer  in  her  society,  and  was  glad 
when  the  fresh  air  in  some,  measure  relieved  the  oppression  of  hex 
feelings,  and  a return  home  enabled  her  to  reflect  with  coolness  on 
the  scene  she  had  just  witnessed. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


THE  YOUTHFUL  BACKSLIDER. 

Thine  own  wickedness  shall  correct  thee,  and  thy  backslidings  shall  reprove 
thee ; know,  therefore,  that  it  is  an  evil  thing,  and  bitter,  that  thou  hast  for- 
saken  the  Lord  thy  God. — Jkr  ii.  19. 

Emily  did  not  trust  herself  to  speak,  during  their  walk,  lest  she 
should  “ speak  unadvisedly.”  Lydia’s  heart  was  full,  and  often 
rose  to  her  lips  ; but,  fearful  of  doing  wrong,  by  giving  vent  to  her 
feelings,  she  thought  it  best  to  imitate  her  companion’s  silence, 
for  she  knew  it  was  not  without  meaning;  and,  in  doubtful  cir 
cumstances,  she  often  made  it  a point  to  regulate  her  conduct  by 
her  cousin’s  looks.  Madame  d’Elfort  was  also  silent,  apparently 
waiting  for  some  observation  from  her  pupils,  and  evidently  sur 
prised  at  their  taciturnity.  On  re-entering  her  own  house,  how- 
ever, she  led  the  way  into  the  garden,  and  inquired  “how  they 
liked  what  they  had  seen  of  the  bonnes  scours  ?” 

“ They  seem  to  be  a very  interesting  order,”  replied  Emily,  the 
tears  of  excited  feeling  unconsciously  starting  to  her  eyes  ; “ and 
if  their  motives  are  as  pure  as  their  actions  are  praiseworthy,  they 
must  certainly  be  considered  as  truly  exalted  characters.” 

“ How  can  their  motives  be  otherwise  than  pure  ?”  inquired 
Madame  d’Elfort,  with  the  accent  of  surprise.  “ Is  it  not  for  the 
love  of  God,  that  they  thus  devote  themselves  to  a life  of  self-de- 
nial ? — that  they  renounce  all  the  advantages  of  fortune,  birth,  and 
education, — all  the  luxuries,  and  even  comforts  of  life  : — that  they 
submit  with  cheerfulness  to  every  kind  of  humiliation,  every  trial 
of  fortitude,  every  occasion  of  disgust, — and  stoop  to  every  de- 
grading office,  to  supply  the  wants  of  the  destitute,  and  alleviate 
the  woes  of  the  miserable  ? Have  we  not  just  witnessed  a most 
affecting  proof  of  the  ardor  and  purity  of  their  charity,  in  the  con- 
duct of  sister  Lucie !” 

“ Their  employment  is  indeed  a noble  one,”  said  Emily,  wishing 
to  drop  the  conversation,  for  she  knew  not  how  to  answer.  She 
could  have  told  Madame  d*  El  fort,  that  it  was  possible  for  a person 
to  “bestow  all  his  goods  to  feed  the  poor,  and  even  give  his  body 
to  be  burned,”  and  yet  be  destitute  of  that  heaven-born  charity, 
that  living  principle  of  divine  love,  without  which  the  most  splen- 
did actions  are  but  “ as  sounding  brass,  or  a tinkling  cymbal.” 
She  could  have  told  her  that  it  was  possible  for  self-love  to  poison 
the  springs  of  benevolence  ; and  that  if  the  bonnes  sceurs  were  thus 
“ going  about  to  establish  their  own  righteousness,”  and  seeking 
to  work  out  for  themselves  a title  to  the  heavenly  inheritance, 
they  would,  in  the  great  day  of  account,  find  their  boasted  virtue* 


THE  YOUTHFUL  BACKSLIDER. 


63 


to  be  indeed  “ but  filthy  ra^s,”  and  having  “ compassed  themselves 
about  with  sparks,”  would  at  length  be  condemned  to  “ lie  down 
in  sorrow.”  All  this  she  felt,  and  could  have  wished  to  say  ; but 
she  remembered  how  awfully  the  church  to  which  Madame  d’El- 
fort  belonged,  had  departed  from  the  truth,  on  that  very  subject ; 
she  shrunk  from  the  task  of  thus  openly  arraigning  her  governess’s 
principles  ; and,  yielding  to  a blameable,  but  too  natural  timidity, 
retired  to  her  own  room,  to  avoid  further  conversation. 

Here  she  employed  herself  for  some  time,  in  moderating,  by 
scripture  arguments,  the  effect  of  the  recent  occurrence  on  the 
ardent  mind  of  Lydia.  It  was  Well  for  the  latter,  that  she  was 
fc  /ex  anxious  to  bring  every  doubtful  point  to  the  touchstone  of 
inspiration ; and,  convinced,  by  that  unerring  word,  of  the  radical 
errors  of  the  Romish  church,  she  soon  learned  t£  distinguish  be- 
tween its  doctrines^  and  the  beautiful  instances  of  individual  piety, 
which  it  sometimes  presents  to  the  impartial  observer.  “ Oh ! 
Emily,”  said  the  warm-hearted  girl,  “ what  a pity  it  is,  that  so 
lovely  a character  as  sister  Lucie  should  belong  to  so  corrupt  and 
unscriptural  a church ! What  would  I not  give,  to  see  her  a Pro- 
testant ! But  I hope  she  will  be  saved  at  last ! — don’t  you,  cousin 
Emily 

“ If  she  is  a Christian , my  dear  Lydia,  and  places  her  whole  de- 
pendence on  the  blood  and  righteousness  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ, 
she  will  certainly  be  saved.  But  you  know  it  is  of  very  little  mo- 
ment, whether  we  are  Protestants  or  Roman  Catholics  if  we  are 
not  ‘ the  children  of  God,  by  faith  in  Christ  Jesus.’  ” 

This  observation,  which  Emily  uttered  with^a  gentle,  but 
mournful  emphasis,  seemed  to  turn  the  current  of  Lydia’s  feelings. 
A slight  flush  appeared  on  her  cheek,  and  she  turned  towards  the 
window,  with  a half-suppressed  sigh.  She  took  up  a book,  as  if 
to  read,  then  threw  it  hastily  away,  and  began  to  adjust  her  dis- 
ordered hair.  Caroline  at  that  moment  entered  the  room,  and, 
with  a smiling  countenance,  held  up  to  her  cousin  a beautiful 
landscape,  which  she  had  finished  drawing.  Emily  had  just  be- 
gun to  examine  it,  when  she  observed  Louisa  and  Helen  entering 
arm  in  arm,  through  another  door.  The  drawing  called  forth 
several  expressions  of  admiration  ; but  Lydia,  who  had  now  re- 
covered all  her  vivacity,  soon  attracted  every  one’s  attention,  by 
relating  the  occurrences  of  their  morning  ramble.  She  described 
sister  Lucie  in  all  the  glowing  colors  which  her  enthusiastic 
mind  gave  to  every  object  that  interested  her ; and  her  attentive 
auditors  soon  caught  some  portion  of  her  feelings  ; but,  starting  on 
a sudden,  she  sprang  towards  her  sister,  exclaiming,  “ Caroline  ! 
are  you  ill  ?”  » 

Every  eye  was  immediately  turned  to  the  spot,  and  the  utmost 
alarm  was  excited.  The  ashy  paleness  of  death  had  spread  itself 
over  Caroline’s  countenance  ; her  lips  quivered,  her  eyes  closed, 


64 


THE  YOUHFUL  BACKSLIDER. 


and  she  sank  against  the  bed.  Emily  caught  her  in  her  arans 
and  Lydia  shrieked  with  terror,  while  Helen  hastily  threw  open 
the  window,  and  Louisa  ran  to  fetch  a glass  of  water.  Caroline’* 
senses,  however,  had  not  forsaken  her,  and  she  faintly  raised  her 
self ; but  when  her  friends  sought,  by  anxious  questions,  to  know 
the  nature  of  her  illness,  the  agitation  that  shook  her  frame  was 
indiscribable.  Her  varying  color  rose  and  fell  with  every  inquiry, 
her  heart  throbbed  with  alarming  violence,  and  a sense  of  suffoca 
tion  seemed  raising  to  her  throat.  Emily  proposed  sending  fot 
Madame  d'Elfort  5 but  Caroline,  with  a convulsive  effort,  attempt 
ed  to  suppress  her  emotion,  and  entreated  that  she  might  be  left 
alone,  assuring  her  friends  that  she  felt  considerably  better.  She 
accordingly  assumed  a forced  calmness  of  manner,  and,  laying 
down,  as  if  to  rake  some  rest,  the  young  people  quitted  the  room, 
all  but  Emily,  whose  anxiety  would  not  suffer  her  to  leave  her 
friend.  She  drew  the  curtains  round  the  bed,  and  seated  herself 
in  a recess  of  the  room.  Here  she  ruminated  on  the  strange  ef- 
fect that  Lydia’s  narrative  had  produced  on  her  sister;  for  her 
emotion  was  evidently  not  the  result  of  indisposition.  The* 
piercing  eye  of  affection  saw  something  dark  and  painful  in  this 
occurrence,  but  could  not  find  any  clue  to  unravel  the  mystery. 
Indeed,  there  seemed  to  be  nothing  but  mystery  in  Caroline’s 
conduct,  for  the  last  few  months  5 and  while  a feeling  of  undefined 
apprehension  oppressed  Emily,  she  could  not  avoid  an  involun- 
tary recurrence  to  those  days  of  unreserved  confidence,  when  her 
friend’s  heart  was  at  all  times  open  to  her.  14  Alas !”  exclaimed 
she  mentally,  while  the  bitter  tears  of  anguish  bust  from  her 
eyes,  44  she  would  not  then  have  entreated  me  to  leave  her ! She 
would  have  freely  imparted  to  me  every  feeling  that  distressed 
her.  But  now,  her  heart  is  estranged  from  me ; she  is  unhappy, 
and  I cannot  comfort  her ! O heavenly  Father ! keep  me  from 
murmuring — but,  if  it  be  thy  gracious  will,  remove  this  bittei 
trial !” 

She  had  remained  some  time,  absorbed  in  these  painful  ideas, 
when  the  bell  rang  for  dinner,  and  Caroline  started  up.  Emily 
approached  her,  and  tenderly  inquired  how  she  felt.  Her  coun- 
tenance bore  striking  marks  of  an  inward  conflict ; sae  looked  pale 
and  exhausted,  and  scarcely  answered  her  friend’s  question, 
Emily  turned  away,  for  she  could  not  bear  the  sight ; and  as  Caro- 
line descended  to  the  dining-room,  she  hurried  into  the  garden,  to 
conceal  her  gushing  tears. 

The  afternoon  passed  sadly  away,  and  another  trial  still  await- 
ed Emily.  Louisa  had  been  complained  of,  by  one  of  her  teach- 
ers, for  her  want  of  application  to  some  of  her  studies.  She  had 
repeatedly  neglected  to  learn  several  very  long  lessons  of  history 
and  geography,  and,  on  being  threatened  with  punishment  for  her 
offence,  had  displayed  a considerable  degree  of  irritability  and  pas- 


THE  YOUTHFUL  BACKSLIDER. 


65 


8ion.  She  answered  Emily’s  remonstrances,  by  affirming  that  she 
could  not  perform  what  was  required  of  her;  but  Emily  felt  it 
her  duty  to  admonish  her  seriously,  on  the  impropriety  of  her 
conduct,  and  especially  on  her  thus  giving  the  reins  to  her  pas- 
sions. Louisa  answered  not,  but  turned  away  in  sullen  silence. 
This  circumstance  inflicted  a fresh  pang  on  the  heart  of  Emily ; 
but  she  had  recourse  to  fervent  prayer  and  received  strength  equal 
to  her  need. 

The  evening  set  in  dark,  cold,  and  wet ; all  nature  seemed  in 
unison  with  her  dejected  feelings.  Caroline  complained  of  a head- 
ache, and  retired  early  to  bed.  Mademoiselle  Laval  was  indis- 
posed, and  requested  Emily,  in  whose  prudence  she  reposed  the 
most  entire  confidence,  to  extinguish  the  lights  on  her  side  of  the 
house.  The  bustle  of  the  evening  ceased,  and  the  different  rooms 
became  the  abodes  of  silence.  Emily’  sat  at  her  writing-desk, 
with  her  Bible  open  before  her;  she  leaned  her  forehead  on  her 
hand,  and  remained  a long  time  absorbed  in  her  own  reflections. 
A gloomy  feeling  of  apprehension  pressed  heavily  on  her  mind  ; 
an  undefined  presentiment  of  something  dreadful  seemed  to  hover 
around  her.  The  thought  of  writing  to  her  father,  on  the  subject 
of  Caroline’s  unaccountable  depression,  for  a moment  presented 
itself ; but  what  could  she  say  ? She  herself  knew  not  what  to 
augur  from  it,  and  might  only  excite  a groundless  uneasiness. 
Besides,  how  could  she  describe  her  cousin’s  change  of  conduct  ? 
It  was  rather  to  be  felt  than  expressed,  for  it  consisted  chiefly  in 
those  delicate  shades  which  none  but  the  watchful  eye  of  affection 
can  observe.  Yet  something  there  certainly  was,  and  that  some- 
thing, so  unaccountable,  was  evidently  of  a painful  nature,  Emi- 
ly’s heart  Was  sad  and  oppressed  ; her  tears  unconsciously  dropped 
through  her  fingers,  and  wetted  the  leaves  of  the  Bible.  She  dried 
them  with  her  pocket-handkerchief,  and  while  doing  so,  her  eyes 
fell  on  those  sweet  words  of  St.  Peter,  “ casting  all  your  care  upon 
him,  for  he  careth  for  you.”  She  felt  cheered  by  the  assurance 
they  afforded,  of  a gracious  Saviour’s  compassionate  sympathy, 
and  encouraged  to  bring  her  burden  to  him,  with  something  like 
filial  confidence. 

She  was  alternately  lost  in  thought,  and  engaged  in  mental  sup- 
plication, when  the  great  bell  of  the  cathedral  announced  the  hour 
of  eleven.  She  started  from  her  seat,  and,  recollecting  Made- 
jnoiselle  LavaPs  charge,  hastened  to  extinguish  the  lights.  She 
found  most  of  the -young  ladies  asleep,  and,  therefore,  performed 
her  task  in  silence.  On- entering  Rose  de  Liancourt’s  room,  she 
was  surprised  to  find  her  still  on  her  knees.  She  had  a book  be- 
fore her,  and  a rosary  in  her  hand,  and  appeared  deeply  engaged 
in  some  prescribed  form  of  devotion.  Emily  stood  a moment  ir- 
resolute, unwilling  to  disturb  her,  vet  not  daring  to  leave  the  light. 
B**t  Rose  slightly  turned  her  heal,  and  held  the  candle  towards 
6* 


66 


THE  YOUTHFUL  BACKSLIDER. 


her ; Emily  approached  to  take  it,  and  observed  that  her  face  wae 
bathed  in  tears.  She  with  difficulty  repressed  her  emotion  at  the 
sight,  but  could  not  refrain  from  silently  kissing  the  hand  that  was 
extended  to  her.  It  was  hastily  withdrawn,  and,  after  extinguish 
ing  the  light,  she  left  the  room,  mentally  exclaiming,  “ Hear,  0 
Lord ! and  accept  her  prayers,  through  the  intercession  of  Jesus 
Christ !” 

She  passed  from  thence  into  Louisa’s  room,  and  found  the  light 
already  extinguished.  She  was  retiring  to  her  own  apartment, 
when  the  figure  of  some  one,  sitting  in  the  window,  somewhat 
startled  her.  She  approached  to  see  who  it  was,  and  found 
Louisa,  completely  dressed,  and  in  an  attitude  of  the  deepest  de- 
jection. Herjiead  was  resting  against  the  casement,  and  one  hand 
concealed  her  eyes.  She  did  not  move  when  Emily  approached, 
but  seemed  entirely  unconscious  of  her  presence. 

“ Louisa  !”  exclaimed  Emily  with  astonishment,  and  shaking  her 
gently,  “ Louisa  ! are  you  asleep  1” 

A slight  motion  of  the  head,  and  a half-uttered  “ No,”  convinced 
her  that  this  was  not  the  case. 

“ Why  do  you  sit  up  so  late,  Louisa  ?”  she  inquired.  “ Do  you 
know  that  it  is  past  eleven,  and  that  you  are  not  only  injuring  your 
health,  but,  if  it  were  known  to  Madame  d’Elfort  or  the  teachers, 
you  would  j ustly  incur  their  serious  displeasure  ?” 

“ I know  it,”  replied  Louisa,  sullenly,  and  without  removing 
her  hand  from  her  eyes. 

“ But  what  can  be  your  object  ?”  resumed  Emily.  “ Your  can- 
dle was  out,  and  you  therefore  could  neither  read  nor  write.  What 
pleasure  or  advantage,  then,  can  you  expect  to  derive,  from  sitting 
up  in  the  dark  ?” 

“ I neither  expect  nor  wish  for  any,  but  I dare  not  go  to  bed.” 

“ Dare  not !”  repeated  Emily,  with  increasing  astonishment. 
t{  What  do  you  mean,  my  dear  Louisa  J Pray  explain  your  mys- 
terious words !’ 

“ I dare  not  go  to  bed,  Miss  Mortimer,  because  I have  provoked 
God  beyond  all  endurance  ; and  as  his  vengeance  will  most  cer- 
tainly fall  on  me,  I wish  to  await  it  with  resignation,  and  in  the 
full  possession  of  my  senses.’ 

This  was  uttered  in  a low  voice,  and  with  an  appearance  Oi. 
calmness,  or  rather  stupefaction,  which  certainly  made  it  doubtful 
whether  she  was,  at  that  moment,  in  the  full  possession  of  those 
senses.  Emily  shuddered  at  the  words,  and  still  more  at  the  man 
ner  in  which  they  were  pronounced.  She  scarcely  knew  how  to 
answer  them,  but  exclaimed,  after  a moment’s  pause, — 

“ O Louisa ! Louisa  ! and  you  can  speak  thus  calmly  on  so  dread 
lul  a subject ! Is  it,  then,  so  light  a thing  to  ‘ fall  into  the  hands 
of  the  living  God  V Y >u  say  you  have  offended  him,  and  provok 
ed  his  vengeance  ; why  then  oh  ! why  do  you  not  fly  to  the  refuge 


THE  YOUTHFUL  BACKSLIDER. 


67 


of  sinners  ? Is  there  not  an  atonement  for  guilt  ; a fountain  for 
sin  and  for  uncleanliness ?” 

“ Yes,  there  is,  but  not  for  me.  I have  sinned  beyond  the  hope 
of  pardon.” 

“ My  dear  Louisa,”  said  Emily  affectionately,  setting  down  her 
candle  on  the  table,  and  taking  the  hand  which  was  listlessly  rest- 
ing on  the  window-seat,  “ You  must  not  give  way  to  this  gloomy 
idea, — indeed  you  must  not ! I have  often  observed  the  tendency 
of  your  mind  to  adopt  the  suggestions  of  despair,  on  every  trying 
occasion.  But  these  thoughts  are  the  temptations  of  Satan,  and 
if  you  indulge  them,  they  will  harden  your  heart  in  impenitence 
and  unbelief.  Look  up,  my  dear  girl,  look  to  Jesus,  whatever  may 
have  been  your  transgressions  ; however  multiplied,  however  ag- 
gravated, they  cannot  place  you  beyond  the  reach  of  His  mercy. 
There  is  hope  in  His  cross  for  the  most  guilty, — salvation  for  the 
most  vile  and  polluted  of  sinners.  ‘ He  is  the  propitiation  for  our 
sins,’  and  ‘ His  blood  cleanseth  from  all  sin.’  ” 

“ But  I have  sinned  against  light,  against  knowledge,  against 
conscience.  I have  "professed  love  to  God,  while  my  heart  was 
estranged  from  Him.  I have  resolved,  and  broken  my  resolutions ; 
made  vows  against  sin,  and  insulted  the  majesty  of  heaven  by  re- 
nouncing them.  I am  a hypocrite  and  a backslider,  and  there  is 
no  further  hope  for  me  ; I may  as  well  say  with  the  rebellious  Is- 
raelites, 4 1 have  loved  idols,  and  after  them  will  I go,”  as  attempt 
once  more  to  mock  God  by  ineffectual  applications  for  mercy;  for 
if  I could  even  obtain  forgiveness,  it  would  only  be  to  increase  my 
condemnation  tenfold,  by  relapsing  into  sin.” 

Emily  was  deeply  affected  by  these  expressions,  and  still  more 
by  the  settled  gloom  of  despondency  which  rested  on  the  unhappy 
girl’s  countenance.  She  entreated  her  to  look  to  the  Saviour  for 
pardon,  and  to  the  Holy  Spirit  for  grace,  to  preserve  her  from  fall- 
ing again;  assuring  her,  with  the  most  affectionate  earnestness, 
that  the  Lord  Jesus  would  not  cast  her  out,  and  that  she  would 
find  His  strength  all-sufficient  against  the  assaults  of  temptation. 
But  her  words  appeared  to  make  no  impression  whatever ; and 
the  precious  promises  of  scripture  she  brought  forward,  were  only 
received  with  a sullen  shake  of  the  head.  Louisa  persisted  in  the 
most  obstinate  silence,  and  resisted  every  endeavor  which  her 
friend  used,  to  comfort  her,  or  persuade  her  to  go  to  bed. 

Emily  felt  much  perplexed,  as  to  what  measures  she  should 
adopt;  for  she  could  not  think  of  leaving  her  in  this  situation,  and 
all  attempts  at  persuasion  were  evidently  hopeless.  With  stream- 
ing eyes  and  uplifted  heart,  she  implored  direction  and  assistance 
from  above ; and  a thought  suggested  itself,  which  she  resolved  to 
put  in  execution.  She  assumed  an  air  of  severity  and  determined 
resolution,  and  peremptorily  commanded  Louisa  to  kneel  down 
and  pray  for  mercy.  There  was  a superiority  in  Emily’s  man- 


68 


THE  YOUTHFUL  BACKSLIDER. 


ner,  whenever  she  chose  to  enforce  respect,  which  had  often  been 
felt  and  acknowledged,  by  those  who  had  incurred  her  serious  re- 
buke. She  perceived  that  Louisa  was  awed  by  the  commanding 
tone  of  her  voice  ; there  was  a moment  of  hesitation  ; but  the  order 
was  emphatically  repeated,  and  Louisa  fell  mechanically  on  her 
knees.  Emily  knelt  by  her  side ; she  could  not  pray  for  her  aloud, 
lest  she  should  disturb  the  inhabitants  of  the  adjoining  rooms ; 
but  her  full  heart  found  utterance  in  silent  supplications  for  mer- 
cy on  her  afflicted  friend. 

In  about  ten  minutes  she  arose,  and  the  still  silent  Louisa  arose 
with  her.  Her  eyes  remained  fixed  on  the  ground,  and  the  gloom 
had  not  departed  from  her  countenance.  Emily  saw  that  entreaty 
would  be  fruitless,  and  therefore  sternly  directed  her  immediately 
to  undress  and  go  to  bed.  The  order  was  received  in  silence,  and 
mechanically  obeyed. 

“ Good  night,  dear  Louisa,”  said  Emily,  pressing  her  hand,  as 
she  was  about  to  leave  her.  The  hand  was  passively  yielded,  but 
the  pressure  was  not  returned,  nor  the  farewell  replied  to.  Emily 
paused  a moment,  then  with  a deep  sigh  left  the  room.  She  found 
abundant  matter  for  reflection  and  prayer,  in  the  incidents  which 
had  occurred  that  evening ; and  it  was  not  till  near  one  in  the 
morning,  that  she  returned  to  her  own  bed.  Before  she  did  so, 
however,  she  again  stole  softly  to  Louisa’s  room,  and  felt  some- 
what relieved  by  observing  that  she  had  fallen  into  a heavy 
slumber. 

Emily’s  first  care  in  the  morning,  was  to  inquire  anxiously  after 
her  cousin’s  health.  Caroline  assured  her  she  was  quite  well, 
but  her  looks  contradicted  the  assertion.  She  appeared  dissatis- 
fied, restless,  and  unhappy,  and  her  reserve  was,  if  possible,  aug- 
mented. Emily  bent  her  way  to  Louisa’s  apartment,  where  she 
found  the  gay  and  dissipated  Emma,  who  had  just  returned  from 
a visit  of  two  or  three  days  to  a French  family  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. Louisa  looked  the  picture  of  wretchedness  5 she  complain- 
ed of  a dreadful  headache,  and  seemed  anxious  to  avoid  all  con- 
versation. She  expressed  her  determination  not  to  get  up,  and 
Emily  went  to  fetch  her  some  milk  for  breakfast,  which,  however, 
she  refused  to  take.  The  traces  of  tears  and  sleeplessness  were 
visible  in  the  mild  countenance  of  Rose  de  Liancourt.  Emily 
and  she  embraced  each  other  at  meeting,  but  no  notice  was  taken 
of  the  last  night’s  incident,  except  by  an  affectionate  pressure  of 
the  hand,  which,  however,  seemed  to  speak  volumes. 


CHAPTER  X. 


RESTORING  MERCY. 

Return,  ye  backsliding  children,  and  I will  heal  your  backslidings.  Behold  we 

come  unto  thee,  for  thou  art  the  Lord  our  God. — Jeb.  iii.  22. 

Emils:  took  the  earliest  opportunity  which  her  different  studies 
allowed  her,  of  entering  into  serious  conversation  with  Louisa. 
She  found  that  she  had,  for  some  time,  been  Jiving  at  a distance 
from  God,  struggling  against  the  remonstrances  of  conscience, 
slighting  the  admonitions  of  the  Spirit,  and  consequently  giving 
way  more  and  more  to  the  dominion  of  sin,  and  involving  her  soul 
in  the  dreadful  gloom  of  guilt  and  misery. 

Every  evil  propensity  of  the  natural  mind  was  thus  nourished 
into  increasing  strength,  and  every  passion  which  had  been  here- 
tofore subdued,  broke  out  into  fearful  rebellion.  The  inevitable 
consequences  were,  alienation  of  heart  from  God,  a guilty  dread 
of  approaching  Him,  sorrow  and  anguish  of  spirit,  and  a sullen 
determination  to  reject  everything  like  hope.  In  this  gloomy 
recklessness  of  unbelief,  she  “refused  to  return  to  her  insulted 
Saviour,  and  was  resolved  to  lie  down  in  despair,  with  the  fearful 
expectation  of  impending  punishment. 

It  was  in  vain  that  Emily  pleaded  the  all-suffering  atonement, 
and  the  inexhaustible  fullness  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ ; in  vain 
that  she  pointed  to  his  cross,  appealed  again  and  again  to  His 
promises,  and  implored  her,  with  tears  of  passionate  entreaty,  only 
to  cast  herself  on  His  mercy  and  faithfulness.  Louisa  remained 
gloomy,  silent,  and  unmoved,  and  she  at  last  left  her  in  almost 
hopeless  discouragement;  to  relieve  her  overburdened  heart  by 
laying  her  case  at  the  feet  of  her  compassionate  Redeemer. 

“ There  is  no  hope,”  Louisa  had  said,  and  the  enemy  of  souls 
was  busily  engaged  in  fixing  this  persuasion  in  her  mind.  But  it 
was  not  so  much  from  the  magnitude  of  her  guilt,  as  from  an 
erroneous  estimation  of  the  power  of  Divine  Grace,  that  she  drew 
the  fatal  conclusion.  u I feel  that  I never  shall  be  able  to  serve 
God  aright,”  would  she  say,  in  answer  to  Emily’s  earnest  repre- 
sentations. “ I know  that  all  you  urge  is  true — that { the  blood 
of  Jesus  Christ  cleanseth  from  all  sin,’  and  that c though  my  sins 
be  as  scarlet,’  He  can  make  them  ‘ white  as  snow.’  But  should 
He  even  extend  towards  me  that  mercy  which  was  extended  to 
Manassah  and  Saul,  of  what  use  would  it  be,  but  to  increase  my 
condemnation  ? I should  only  be  pardoned  to  offend  again, — only 
restored  to  relapse,  with  aggravated  guilt  and  misery.” 

“ But,  my  dear  Louisa,  you  have  hitherto  trusted  in  your  own 
strength,  and  that  is  the  reason  that  you  have  found  it  worse 


70 


RESTORING  MERCY. 


than  weakness : 4 In  the  Lord  Jehovah  alone  is  everlasting 
strength ;’  and  it  is  by  his  power  alone  that  we  are  kept  4 through 
faith  unto  salvation.’  Remember  that  gracious  promise,  addressed 
to  all  those  who,  renouncing  all  dependence  on  their  own  strength, 
look  to  Him  alone  for  support  in  every  hour  of  need  5 * Fear  not, 
for  I am  with  thee  ; be  not  dismayed,  for  I am  thy  God ; I will 
strengthen  thee,  yea,  I will  help  thee ; yea,  I will  uphold  thee  with 
the  right  hand  of  my  righteousness.” 

“ But,  Miss  Mortimer,  I have  never  been  under  the  influence  of 
divine  grace  $ I have  never  been  a Christian,  or  I could  not  be  what 
I now  am,  or  act  as  I do.  I have  been  a hypocrite  too  long ; I 
will  be  so  no  longer  ; I will  not  insult  God,  by  a profession  which 
I cannot  maintain.  You  have  been  deceived  in  me,  and  I have 
hitherto  deceived  myself.” 

“ Well,  supposing  it  is  so,  Louisa,  your  duty  is  equally  plain 
and  simple.  ‘ Look  unto  me,’  says  the  Saviour, 4 and  be  ye  saved 
4 him  that  cometh  to  me  I will  in  no  wise  cast  out.’  Come  to 
him,  then,  my  beloved  girl  j come  to  him  now , in  humble  faith. 
He  will  in  no  wise  cast  you  out — in  no  wise , my  Louisa ! they  are 
his  own  gracious  words  Come  to  him  and  you  will  find  him 
faithful  to  his  promise.  Oh  ! do  not,  by  your  obstinate  unbelief, 
shut  yourself  out  from  his  mercy  and  compassion  !”  Emily  was 
quite  overpowered,  as  she  pronounced  these  words,  and  her  full 
heart  found  some  relief  in  a flood  of  tears. 

Louisa  did  not  answer,  but  she  concealed  her  face  with  her 
hands.  A step  was  now  heard  ascending  the  stairs,  and  Emily 
had  scarcely  time  to  dry  her  tears,  when  Madame  d’Elfort  entered 
the  room.  She  anxiously  inquired  respecting  Louisa’s  indispo- 
sition, and  appeared  quite  alarmed  on  looking  at  her.  The  mental 
anguish  which  had  been  for  some  time  preying  on  her  soul,  and 
which  was  only  the  more  visible  lrom  the  assumption  of  unna- 
tural apathy,  bad  indeed,  during  the  preceding  night,  made  fearful 
ravages  on  her  health.  There  was  a wuldness  in  her  eye,  and  a 
convulsive  agitation  occasionally  perceptible  on  her  features, 
which  strikingly  contrasted  with  the  death-like  paleness  of  her 
countenance.  Madame  d’Elfort  took  her  hand,  and  instinctively 
drew  back  at  the  frightful  violence  of  her  pulse.  She  gave  her  a 
composing  cordial,  commanded  that  the  greatest  stillness  should 
prevail  in  the  adjacent  rooms,  and  requested  Emily  to  visit  her 
occasionally : expressing  her  intention  of  sending  for  the  medical 
attendant  in  the  evening,  should  no  change  for  the  better  appear 
to  have  taken  place. 

Emily  sat  for  a long  time  by  the  side. of  Louisa’s  bed,  and  made 
several  attempts  at  conversation,  anxiously  desirous  to  lead  her 
back  to  the  Saviour  for  peace  and  comfort ; but  she  could  not 
prevail  upon  her  to  speak.  She  read  to  her  in  a low  voice,  the 
most  general  invitations  and  promises  of  scripture,  and  patheti- 


RESTORING  MERCY. 


71 


cally  entreated  her  to  embrace  the  sweet  encouragement  they 
offered.  But  it  seemed  all  in  vain  ; Louisa  continued  silent ; and 
Emily,  whose  feelings  were  totally  overcome  by  this  distressing 
conduct,  at  last  dropped  the  Bible  on  the  bed,  and  hurried  to  the 
casement,  to  indulge  her  tears.  The  window  commanded  a view 
of  the  garden,  and,  in  order  to  recover  some  degree  of  calmness, 
she  stood  a moment  or  two  contemplating  the  scene  before  her. 
When  she  returned  to  the  bedside,  Louisa  had  apparently  fallen 
into  a quiet  slumber.  She  gazed  on  her  countenance  in  silence  ; 
but  the  expression  of  deep-seated  anguish  it  presented  was  too 
painful  for  her  agitated  mind  to  endure  ; she  staggered  out  of  the 
room  with  a sensation  of  faintness,  and  was  just  able  to  reach  the 
garden,  in  time  for  the  fresh  air  to  prevent  her  swooning. 

The  wind  was  howling  dismally  through  the  now  leafless  trees, 
and  the  air  was  damp  and  chilling ; but  she  heeded  not  these 
things,  and  felt  not  their  influence  ; for  her  thoughts  were  too 
deeply  engaged  on  the  subject  of  Louisa’s  situation.  It  was  evi- 
dent that  a kind  of  sullen  despair  had  taken  possession  of  her 
mind ; and  that  her  health  was  rapidly  sinking  under  its  effects. 

From  this  distressing  reflection,  Emily  was  led  to  revert  to  the. 
causes  which  had  gradually  produced  these  painful  effects  on  her 
young  friend.  It  was  true,  indeed,  that  the  immediate  occasion  of 
her  misery  was  a gradual  declension  from  God, — a departure  from 
the  way  of  spiritual  religion,  and  an  habitual  neglect  of  watchful- 
ness, and  communion  with  her  Saviour.  But  how  many  collateral 
circumstances  had  contributed  to  this  declension ! and  how  diffi- 
cult was  it,  in  her  situation,  to  avoid  the  snares  into  which  Louisa 
had  fallen  ! Thrown  into  the  midst  of  ungodly  society,  continu-  • 
ally  exposed  to  the  dangers  of  error,  or  the  fatal  influence  of  irre- 
ligion,  surrounded  by  the  evils  of  superstition,  connected  with  the 
most  daring  disregard  of  God’s  commandments,  allowed  but  few 
opportunities  of  enjoying  the  public  means  of  grace,  having  no 
experienced  Christian  friend  to  guide  her  steps  through  the  mazes 
of  temptation,  harassed  with  incessant  study,  and  occupations 
the  most  laborious  to  the  mind,  which  she  was  compelled  to  pur- 
sue with  an  application  amounting  almost  to  slavery,  and  de- 
prived of  the  smallest  portion  of  leisure,  wjiich  might  have  ena- 
bled her  to  cultivate,  by  religious  exercises,  those  Christian  graces 
she  so  much  needed,  and  that  habitual  nearness  to  God,  which 
alone  could  form  the  safeguard  of  her  soul — thus  situated,  thus 
beset,  could  it  be  a subject  of  wonder  that  she  had  declined,  and 
that  the  fearful  clouds  of  despondency  seemed  now  even  to 
threaten  her  reason  and  her  life  ? 

Emily  took  a mental  survey  of  her  English  companions  in  the 
school ; and  her  heart  sank  in  dismay,  as  she  observed  the  perni- 
cious influence  which  their  situation  had  already  exercised  over 
every  mind,  and  especially  over  those  for  whom  she  felt  more  im- 


72 


RESTORING  MERCY. 


mediately  concerned.  Some  had  plunged  into  giddy  dissipation, 
and  disregarded  everything  that  was  serious  or  scriptural.  One 
had  not  only  adopted  French  manners,  and  French  principles,  but 
seemed  in  the  greatest  danger  from  the  fascinations  of  popery.  A 
third  was  vainly  struggling  to  silence  an  enlightened  conscience, 
and  to  persuade  herself  that  she  could  be  happy  without  vital  re- 
ligion. A fourth  was  evidently  suffering  from  some  unknown 
cause  of  mental  anguish  ; and  the  mind  of  a fifth  seemed  ready  to 
sink  under  a weight  of  hopeless  despondency. 

Emily  felt  oppressed  by  this  melancholy  review,  and  could  not 
but  deeply  deplore  that  cruel  ambition  of  worldly  accomplish- 
ments,  or  that  reckless  indifference  to  their  eternal  interests,  which 
so  generally  induced  Protestant  parents  to  expose  their  children  to 
the  baneful  influence  of  French  society,  and  a French  education. 

It  was  not  till  the  dinner-bell  summoned  her  back  to  the  house, 
that  Emily  left  the  bower  in  which  she  had  been  revolving  these 
painful  subjects  of  contemplation.  As  soon  as  she  could  leave 
the  dining-room,  she  returned  to  her  own  apartment,  where  she* 
found  a letter,  which  had  just  been  brought  for  her.  She  opened 
. it,  with  eager  haste,  and  perceived  with  delight  the  signatures  of 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Somerville.  She  could  not  read  it  without  tears, 
for  the  advice  it  contained  was  peculiarly,  appropriate.  Her 
friends  exhorted  her  to  “cleave  to  the  Lord  with  purpose  of 
heart,” — to  be  tremblingly  on  her  guard  against  the  spirit  of  the 
world,  and,  in  short,  against  everything  which'tended,  even  in  the 
slightest  degree,  to  draw  her  affections  away  from  heavenly 
things.  Mrs.  Somerville  made  several  kind  inquiries  about  Caro- 
* line,  and  expressed  some  surprise  at  not  having  heard  from  her; 
and  Mr.  Somerville,  after  dwelling  at  some  length  on  the  pre- 
ciousness, the  suitableness,  and  immutability  of  the  divine  prom- 
ises, and  applying  them  with  peculiar  force  to  his  young  friend’s 
situation  and  circumstances,  concluded  in  the  following  manner : — . 

“ And  now,  my  dear  child-,  I have  only  room  to  add  a very  few 
words.  Would  you  enjoy  the  richness,  the  unspeakable  blessed- 
ness, of  these  promises  ? Keep  up  a close  and  familiar  inter- 
course with  your  gracious,  all-sufficient  Redeemer.  1 It  hath 
pleased  the  Father  that  in  Him  should  all  fullness  dwell ;’  and  it 
is  your  delightful  privilege  to  make  use  of  Him  by  faith,  in  all 
His  covenant  offices.  Beware  of  a lukewarm  and  undecided 
state ; beware  of  ‘ following  Christ  afar  off;’  for  you  will  never 
•enjoy  solid  peace,  till  you  ‘ abide  in  Him,’  by  means  of  the  most 
intimate  communion.  Farewell,  my  dear  young  friend : ‘ I com- 
mend you  to  God,  and  to  the  word  of  his  grace,  which  is  able  to 
build  you  up,’  and  ‘ establish  you  in  the  faith.’  ” 

“ O ! my  father,  my  friend  !”  exclaimed  Emily,  as  she  folded  up 
this  kind  and  truly  welcome  letter.  “ How  happy  should  I be,  if 
I could,  at  this  moment,  unburden  my  anxious  heart  to  you,  and 


RESTORING  MERCY. 


73 


entreat  the  benefit  of  your  advice  and  your  prayers  ! But,”  added 
she,  suddenly  checking  herself,  “ have  I not  a better  friend  and 
counsellor  at  hand, — even  that  heavenly  Father,  to  whom  you  so 
kindly  direct  me She  covered  her  face  with  her  hand,  and 
breathed  a silent  prayer  for  the  grace  and  assistance  of  the  Holy 
Spirit.  She  was  suddenly  interrupted  by  Helen  Douglas,  who 
entered  to  inform  her  that  the  Italian  lesson  had  been  some  time 
begun,  and  that  the  master  had  expressed  some  displeasure  at  her 
absence.  She  hastily  followed  Helen  to  the  place,  and  was  con- 
stantly engaged  with  a succession  of  masters  till  the  evening. 

As  soon  as  her  accustomed  duties  were  over,  she  hastened  to 
Louisa’s  room,  and  found  her  asleep.  The  ashy  paleness  of  her 
cheek  had  given  place  to  a deep  flush ; her  hand  was  pressed  on 
her  forehead,  and  there  was  an  expression  of  suffering  on  her  inters 
esting  countenance  which  powerfully  affected  the  heart  of  Emily. 
A thousand  tender  and  mournful  thoughts  rushed  on  her  mind,jnin- 
gled  with  a feeling  of  apprehension,  which,  however,  was  somewhat 
softened  by  a glimpse  of  hope  and  confidence.  She  sank  on  her 
knees  by  the  bedside  ; and,  while  her  tears  flowed  silently  and  unre- 
strainedly, she  poured  out  her  full  heart  in  mental  supplication. 

Louisa  now  heaved  a sigh,  and  Emily,  perceiving  that  she  was 
awaking,  started  up  from  her  knees.  A faint  smile  welcomed  her 
approach,  and,  to  the  anxious  inquiry  of  her  friend,  Louisa  only 
answered  by  holding  up  the  Bible,  which  Emily  now  perceived 
had  been  clasped  in  her  right  hand.  A thrill  of  doubtful  joy 
darted  across  Emily’s  mind,  like  the  glorious  sunbeam  of  sum- 
mer, when  it  suddenly  bursts  through  a watery  cloud  ; but  what 
was  the  rapture  of  her  feelings,  when  Louisa  said  as  she  pressed 
her  hand  with  affectionate  energy,  “ O ! my  dearest  Miss  Morti- 
mer ! how  can  I thank  you  sufficiently  for  all  your  unwearied 
kindness  1 I owe  you  a thousand  thanks  for  pointing  out  to  me 
those  precious  portions  of  scripture.  Notwithstanding  the  hard- 
ness of  my  heart,  notwithstanding  my  dreadful  insensibility,  I 
was  led  to  read  them  over  again,  after  I had  induced  you  to  leave 
the  room,  by  feigning  to  fall  asleep.  I found  my  state  and  charac- 
ter most  exactly  described  in  them,  and  felt  reproved  for  my  folly, 
in  persuading  myself  that  ‘ there  was  no  hope’  for  me.  How  was 
my  hard  and  rebellious  heart  subdued,  when  I reflected  on  those 
gracious  invitations,  and  those  precious  promises ! Look,  my 
dear  friend,”  she  continued,  pointing  to  a verse,  while  her  tears 
flowed  in  abundance,  “ look  at  this  soul-subduing  remonstrance ; 

1 Wilt  thou  not,  from  this  time,  cry  unto  me,  My  Father,  thou  art 
the  guide  of  my  youth !’  Oh  ! yes : I trust  my  Saviour  has  made 
me  willing  again  to  embrace  his  salvation.  But  what  com- 
pletely demolished  the  separating  wall  of  my  sullen  despair,  was 
the  blessed  assurance  contained  in  this  verse,  ‘ But  I said,  How 
shall  I put  thee  among  the  children,  and  give  thee  a pleasant  land 


74 


RESTORING  MERC*. 


and  a goodly  heritage  of  the  host  of  nations  ? And  I said,  Thou 
shalt  call  me,  My  Father,  and  shalt  not  turn  away  from  me.’  I 
may  then  hope,  that  God  will  vouchsafe  me  the  spirit  of  adoption, 
through  the  merits  of  my  Redeemer,  and  that  He  will  keep  me  in 
his  fear  and  love.  Oh ! Miss  Mortimer,  this  sweet  hope  is  like 
life  from  the  dead !” 

Emily’s  joy  was  too  great  for  utterance,  but  she  mingled  her 
tears  of  gratitude  and  transport  with  those  of  the  penitent  and 
restored  Louisa  ; and  the  rest  of  the  evening  was  spent  in  unre- 
served conversation,  till  the  supper-bell  summoned  Emily  away, 
and  reminded  her  that  she  had  not  observed  Madame  d’Elfort’s 
injunctions,  to  keep  Louisa  in  the  most  perfect  state  of  tranquil- 
lity. She  was,  however,  evidently  better,  though  the  excitement 
'of  her  feelings  had  certainly  produced  some  degree  of  fever. 

The  entrance  of  thy  words  giveth  light,”  and  they  are  indeed 
“ spirit  and  life,”  thought  Emily,  as  she  kissed  her  Bible  with  trans- 
port, on  returning  through  her  own  room  to  the  salon.  An  insuppor- 
table weight  of  anxiety  had  fallen  from  her  heart ; and  in  the  happy 
feeling  of  the  moment,  she  forgot  every  other  cause  of  uneasiness. 

Caroline  was  gone  to  spend  a few  days  in  the  country,  with  a 
French  family,  with  which  she  had  become  acquainted;  and 
Emily’s  attention  was,  therefore,  principally  engrossed  by  Louisa. 
On  entering  her  room  the  next  morning  she  found  her  in  tears, 
and  Lydia  and  Helen,  who  were  sitting  by  her  bedside,  appeared 
little  less  affected.  Emily  expressed  a hope  that  nothing  painful 
had  occurred,  and  Louisa  replied,  that  they  had  been  conversing 
on  the  mercy  of  God  to  sinners.  “ Oh  ! Miss  Mortimer !”  ex- 
claimed she,  with  animation,  “when  I think  of  my  ingratitude 
to  my  God  and  Saviour,  and  of  his  wonderful  love  and' kindness 
to  such  a vile  and  rebellious  creature  as  myself,  I feel  quite  over- 
whelmed by  the  contemplation.  Only  think  of  that  pathetic  in- 
vitation, ‘ Return,  ye  backsliding  children,  and  I will  heal  your 
backslidings  and  that  blessed  19th  verse, — ‘ Thou  shalt  call  me, 
My  Father,  and  shalt  not  turn  away  from  me.’  Oh  ! it  is  too,  too 
much!”  and  she  wept  with  uncontrolled  emotion. 

The  little  party  could  not  restrain  their  tears,  but  Emily,  fear- 
ing the  effect  of  too  much  excitement  on  the  weak  frame  of 
Louisa,  attempted  to  turn  the  conversation,  by  taking  up  a hymn-, 
book,  that  lay  upon  the  table.  As  she  turned  over  the  leaves,  her 
eyes  fell  on  a verse,  which  was  so  peculiarly  appropriate,  that  she 
read  it  aloud  to  her  young  friends. 

Nothing  but  thy  blood,  O Jesus ! 

Can  relieve  us  of  our  smart, 

Nothing  else  from  sin  release  us  ; 

Nothing  else  can  melt  the  heart. 

Law  and  terrors  do  but  harden, 

All  the  while  they  work  alone ; 

But  a sense  of  blcod-bought  pardon 
Soon  dissolves  the  heart  of  stone. 


Remember  the  Sabbath  day,  to  keep  it  holy.— Exodus  xx.  8. 

A call  to  breakfast  now  separated  the  young  friends,  and  each 
repaired  to  her  appointed  place,  round  the  large  table  in  the  salle 
a manger.  Emily’s  seat  was  near  Madame  d’Elfort’s,  and  that 
lady  often  addressed  her  conversation  to  her.  It  was  Sunday,  and 
those  of  the  boarders  who  had  a regular  weekly  allowance  of 
pocket-money,  were  generally  called  to  receive  it  on  that  morn- 
ing. This  allowance  was  often  forfeited  to  the  use  of  the  poor, 
as  a punishment  for  certain  acts  of  disobedience;  idleness,  or  mis- 
behavior. The  baneful  effects  of  this  practice,  in  nullifying  the 
sacredness  of  the  Sabbath,  were  entirely  overlooked  j and  it  was 
frequently  followed  by  another  almost  equally  reprehensible. 
Those  young  ladies  who,  during  the  week,  had  been  guilty  of  any 
gross  violations  of  the  rules  of  the  establishment,  were  sentenced 
to  be  debarred  the  use  of  their  Sunday  clothes  and  ornaments, 
and  to  wear  their  every-day  costume,  both  at  church  and  during 
the  afternoon  walk. 

It  is  not  surprising  that,  with  such  a system,  the  children  should 
think  of  little  else  than  money  and  dress.  Emily’s  heart  sick- 
ened at  the  thought  of  the  Sunday  morning  occupations,  and  she 
was,  therefore,  glad  when  the  first  cathedral  bell  put  an  end  to 
the  scene  and  the  conversation,  as  every  one  then  retired  to  her 
own  room  to  dress.  As  she  passed  through  several  of  these 
rooms,  to  reach  her  own,  she  heard  scarcely  anything  but  ques- 
tions and  answers  about  dress,  accompanied  by  observations  and 
criticisms  on  every  new  article  that  appeared  in  the  wrardrobe  of 
every  individual.  Dress,  indeed,  was  the  principal  object  of  atten- 
tion, and  more  especially  so  among  the  French  girls.  They  might 
generally  be  distinguished,  any  other  day,  by  the  comparative 
meanness  of  their  attire,  and  an  almost  universal  w'ant  of  neat- 
ness in  their  appearance ; but  on  the  Sunday,  they  were  invaria- 
bly tight-laced,  to  a distressing  extreme,  and  their  gaudy  finery 
strikingly  contrasted  with  the  elegant  simplicity  of  their  English 
companions.  At  the  sound  of  the  second  bell,  they  all  assembled 
in  the  front  garden,  wThere  each  girl  busied  herself  in  displaying 
her  own  dress,  and  making  remarks  on  that  of  her  school-fellow's, 
till  they  were  joined  by  Madame  d’Elfort,  and  one  of  the  teachers, 
who  conducted  them  to  the  cathedral. 

The  departure  was  a subject  of  great  delight  to  the  English 
boarders,  for,  as  soon  as  their  own  toilet  was  completed,  they 
loved  to  retire  into  the  garden,  and  enjoy  a quiet  chat  among  them 


76 


SUNDAY  EMPLOYMENTS. 


selves,  unmolested  toy  French  observation,  till  the  clock,  striking 
ten,  gave  the  signal  for  their  departure.  A long  and  somewhat 
fatiguing  walk  awaited  them,  ere  they  reached  the  English  place 
of  worship,  which  was  a small  chapel,  in  the  outskirts  of  the 
town.  A respectable  English  woman,  in  indigent  circumstances, 
was  paid  by  Madame  d’Elfort  to  escort  them,  as  Miss  Parker,  the 
English  teacher,  did  not  attend.  The  gospel  was  faithfully  preach- 
ed, by  a young  clergyman,  and  tjbe  more  serious  little  party  found 
this  means  of  grace  a source  of  delightful  refreshment.  It  was 
the  only  public  one  they  were  allowed  during  the  week,  for  Ma- 
dame d’Elfort  would  not  hear  of  their  going  more  than  once  on 
the  Sunday;  and  they  were  often  deprived  even  of  this  solitary 
privilege ; for  the*  least  unpleasantness  in  the  weather,  or  the 
slightest  indication  of  rain,  was  a sufficient  reason  for  excluding 
them  from  its  enjoyment.  JMany  an  ardent  wish  was,  therefore, 
breathed  by  all,  for  fine  weather  on  the  Sunday  morning;  though 
the  levity  and  inattention  of  too  many  plainly  showed  that  it  was 
not  spiritual  improvement  they  sought,  in  this  visit  to  the  house 
of  God. 

The  chapel  was  so  small  as  to  be  incapable  of  containing  above 
one-fifth  part  of  the  English  residents  in  S — — . Yet  it  was  never 
crowded,  and  only  well  attended  on  the  Sunday  morning;  a me- 
lancholy proof  of  those  irreligious  habits,  in  which  a great  ma- 
jority of  them  were  living. 

On  returning  home  after  divine  service,  the  English  pupils 
always  dined  by  themselves,  as  the  French  returned  from  high 
mass  about  eleven,  and,  after  an  early  dinner,  were  again  taken  to 
the  cathedral,  where  they  received  catechetical  instruction  from 
the  cure,  or  other  priests  of  the  towm.  The  regularity  of  their 
attendance  on  every  rite  of  the  church  was  truly  exemplary ; and 
this  was  accounted  for  by  Madame  d’Elfort,  who  one  day  told 
Emily,  that  it  was  a deadly  sin  to  be  absent  from  mass,  on  any 
account  but  that  of  sickness — “ I would,  therefore,”  she  added, 
“ take  my  Catholic  pupils  to  church,  even  if  it  were  to  rain  stones 
from  heaven.”  “ Alas  f ’ thought  Emily,  “ how  does  this  consci- 
entious discharge  of  every  religious  duty,  put  to  shame  many  of 
those  inconsistent  professors,  who  enjoy  the  advantages  of  a purer 
faith !” 

A quiet  walk  in  the  garden  succeeded  the  English  dinner ; and 
they  were  then  allowed  to  retire  for  about  an  hour,  in  order  to 
read  the  evening  prayers  together.  They,  however,  frequently 
substituted  the  reading  of  a chapter,  followed  by  a familiar  con- 
versation on  the  subjects  it  contained.  This  was  often  a trying 
time  to  Emily,  for  she  was  then  obliged  to  take  the  lead,  and, 
while  she  felt  her  own  want  of  instruction,  was  always  applied 
to  for  the  solution  of  every  difficulty.  However,  she  did  not  allow 
herself  to  shrink  from  what  was  evidently  a duty;  she  implored 


SUNDAY  EMPLOYMENTS. 


77 


Kelp  and  direction  from  above,  and  was  enabled  to  state  clearly 
her  own  simple  views  of  divine  truth.  Too  many  of  her  compa- 
nions listened  with  a scornful  smile,  or  turned  away  with  con- 
temptuous indifference,  and  manifested,  by  their  restlessness,  how 
little  pleasure  they  found  in  this  unwonted  occupation ; but  Lydia, 
Helen,  and  Louisa,  showed  by  their  incessant  questions  how  much 
the  subject  interested  their  hearts : and  a few  others  maintained 
an  attentive  silence,  and  seemed  to  search  the  Scriptures  with 
pleasure,  though  diffidence  prevented  their  taking  a-  more  active 
oart.  Emily  felt  encouraged  by  these  symptoms,  to  hope  that 
the  seed  might  not  be  sown  in  vain.  The  morning  sermon  was 
generally  referred  to,  on  these  occasions,  and  the  reading  of  a 
tract,  or  missionary  paper,  occasionally  served  to  keep  up  the  in- 
terest of  the  little  meeting. 

But,  alas  ! the  serious  impressions,  which  this  opportunity  of 
spiritual  improvement  was  so  well  calculated  to  cherish,  were 
soon  most  furiously  assaulted,  and  in  too  many  instances  de- 
stroyed, by  the  temptations  which  surrounded  them,  on  again  de- 
scending to  the  salon.  Every  allurement  was  thrown  in  their 
way,  and  their  principles  painfully  put  to  the  test.  The  fruit- 
woman  wTas  waiting,  with  her  tempting  supplies,  and  a quantity 
of  milk,  cream,  and  other  refreshments,  was  pressed  upon  them. 
It  required  no  small  degree  of  resolution,  in  girls  of  their  age,  to 
withstand  all  these  united  snares , but,  if  they  escaped  unhurt 
through  the  trial,  there  were  others  at  hand  which  it  was  impossi- 
ble to  fly  from.  The  sacred  tranquillity  of  the  Sabbath  was  ex- 
changed for  noisy  and  unhallowed  amusements;  the  frivolous 
song,  the  giddy  dance,  the  thoughtless  game,  the  ungodly  conver- 
sation, assailed  them  in  every  quarter ; and  the  youthful  heart 
either  turned  with  sickening  horror  from  the  scene,  or  yielded  to 
the  fatal  influence  of  levity  and  indifference. 

The  hour  of  six  was  the  signal  for  this  profane  mirth  to  cease  , 
but,  alas ! it  was  not  succeeded  by  a holier  employment.  The 
young  ladies  were  then  summoned  to  the  school-room,  and  re- 
quired to  study  their  lessons  for  the  ensuing  week,  till  the  hour 
of  eight  called  them  down  to  supper.  Caroline  and  Emily,  as 
granules  pensionnaircs , were  privileged  to  remain  in  their  own  room  ; 
and,  at  their  parents’  particular  request,  Lydia  and  the  Misses  Sel- 
wyn  were  exempted  from  the  necessity  of  study,  but  compelled 
to  sit  in  the  school-room  with  the  others.  They,  therefore,  em- 
ployed those  two  hours  in  reading,  and  were  always  anxious  for 
a supply  of  tracts,  or  any  serious  books  they  could  proctire.  Miss 
Kennedy’s  beautiful’ little  works,  “The  Decision,”  “Father  Cle- 
ment,” and  “ Profession  is  not  Principle,”  were  very  great  favor- 
ites with  them  all,  and  the  first,  especially,  seemed  to  make  no 
slight  impression  on  their  minds.  As  Miss  Douglas’s  health  had 
been  delicate  from  her  infancy,  her  parents  had,  in  answer  to  her 
7# 


78 


SUNDAY  EMPLOYMENTS. 


earnest  entreaties,  requested  of  Madame  d’Elfort  that  she  might 
spend  her  evenings  in  Miss  Mortimer’s  room,  as  the  comfort  of 
sitting  near  a fire  was  very  desirable  for  her  weak  constitution. 
This  was  a privilege  which  she  highly  appreciated,  especially  on 
the  Sunday  evening;  and  the  pleasure  of  the  little  party  was 
sometimes  increased  by  the  presence  of  Louisa  and  Lydia;  for,  as 
Emily  stood  high  in  favor  with  the  governess  and  one  of  the 
teachers,  she  occasionally  obtained  the  indulgence  of  her  young 
friends’  society. 

On  these  delightful  evenings,  the  joy  of  their  hearts  was  inde- 
scribable ; and  the  hours  flew  rapidly  away,  amidst  the  charms 
of  familiaT  conversation,  in  which  the  most  blessed  and  important 
truths  were  sweetly  blended  with  the  cheerful  anticipations  of 
youthful  hope,  and  the  endearing  expressions  of  mutual  affection. 

The  natural  vivacity  of  Caroline’s  disposition  seemed  once 
more  to  have  triumphed  over  the  unaccountable  gloom  which 
had  for  some  time  obscured  it.  On  these  occasions,  she  was  fre- 
quently the  life  and  soul  of  the  little  circle ; yet  Emily  painfully 
felt  that,  though  cheerful  in  company,  she  was  pensive  and  re 
served  in  private ; and  earnestly  did  she  pray  for  grace,  to  wait 
patiently  the  arrival  of  happier  days. 

Thus  passed  the  months  of  October  and  November,  and  the 
weather  was  now  assuming  a gloomier  and  drearier  aspect.  The 
cold  was  already  intense,  and  the  English  girls  felt  it  much  more 
than  the  French  ; for,  being  accustomed  to  the  warmth  and  com- 
fort of  well-finished  houses,  neat  carpeted  rooms,  and  cheerful 
English  fire-sides,  they  could  not  but  suffer  much  inconvenience 
from  the  almost  total  want  of  those  accommodations.  They 
shivered  with  cold  in  the  midst  of  large,  dreary  rooms,  the  doors 
and  windows  of  which  admitted  constant  draughts  of  chilling 
air;  there  was  generally  a large  wood-fire  on  the  hearth,  but  it 
was  impossible  for  many  to  sit  near  it ; and  while  the  cold  almost 
froze  the  vital  current  in  their  veins,  they  looked  round  on  the 
bare  boards,  and  desolate  appearance  of  their  apartments ; listen- 
ed, with  shuddering  sensations,  to  the  dismal  howling  of  the  wind, 
along  the  wide,  echoing  passages,  and  through  the  half-decayed 
casement ; and  breathed  many  a sigh  of  regret,  for  the  absence  of 
those  domestic  comforts,  which  make  the  home  of  an  English  girl 
so  peculiarly  attractive. 

The  conversation  of  the  little  paxty  in  Emily’s  room,  it  may 
easily  be  supposed,  frequently  turned  on  this  subject ; but,  though 
it  was  one  on  which  every  one  spoke  with  peculiar  feeling,  none 
was  so  eloquent  in  her  effusions  as  the  ardent  and  romantic  Lydia. 
She  poured  forth  the  overflowings  of  her  heart,  in  the  most  im- 
passioned language,  and  described,  in  glowing  colors,  the  superi- 
ority and  happiness  of  her  native  country,  till  every  ear  hung  on 
her  words  with  ecstacy,  and  every  heart  kindled  with  some  por- 


SUNDAY  EMPLOYMENTS. 


79 


tion  of  her  enthusiasm.  There  was  a similarity  of  disposition  in 
many  respects,  and  a sympathy  of  feeling,  between  her  and  Emily, 
which  led  to  a striking  conformity  of  tastes.  They  were  both 
passionately  fond  of  poetry ; and  while  Lydia’s  sentiments  and 
language  were  often  highly  poetical,  Emily’s  secluded  mode  of 
life,  and  long-cherished  habits  of  reflection,  which  often  amounted 
to  a kind  of  pleasing  melancholy,  had  led  her  to  court  the  muses 
from  her  childhood.  It  was  after  listening  to  one  of  Lydia’s  rhap- 
sodies, in  which  she  expatiated  on  the  excellences  of  her  beloved 
country,  as  the  nurse  of  wisdom,  bravery,  and  genius,  the  hallow- 
ed refuge  of  piety  and  virtue,  and  the  sweet  abode  of  every  do- 
mestic blessing,  that  Emily  retired  to  her  desk,  and  expressed  the 
feelings  of  her  heart  in  the  following  stanzas : — 

ENGLAND. 

There  is  a land, — a happy  land, — 

Where  peace  and  liberty  are  found  ; 

A land  which  mercy’s  bounteous  hand 
Has  with  its  richest  blessings  crowned  : 

A land  of  commerce,  arts,  and  wealth, 

Where  comfort  smoothes  the  peasant’s  lot — 

Where  sweet  content,  and  smiling  health, 

Adorn  his  neat  and  rustic  cot. 

There  is  a land,  where  freedom  reigns, 

In  all  her  native  pride  of  soul, 

And  ranges  through  the  verdant  plains, 

Unaw’d  by  tyranny’s  control. 

Her  smile  repays  the  laborer’s  toil ; — 

Her  song  with  ardor  fires  his  breast 
Her  sweets  endear  his  native  soil, 

And  make  its  blessings  doubly  blest. 

There  is  a land,  where  glory’s  wreath 
Is  twined  with  mercy’s  olive-leaf; 

Where  valor  braves  the  shaft  of  death, 

Yet  weeps  to  view  the  widow’s  grief. 

A land  that  proudly,  nobly  stands, 

In  conscious  majesty  arrayed, 

And  proffers  to  surrounding  lands 
Protection,  peace,  and  generous  aid. 

There  is  a land,  where  brightly  glows 
Fair  charity’s  ethereal  flame ; 

Where  pity  no  distinction  knows  j 
Of  diff ’rent  clime,  or  faith,  or  name ; 

Where  sweet  compassion  still  defends 
From  cold  and  want  th’  unsheltered  poor, 

And  warm  benevolence  extends 
Her  radiant  wings  from  shore  to  shore. 

There  is  a land,  where  gospel-light 
Shines  forth,  with  full,  unclouded  blaze ; 

Where  superstition’s  dismal  night 
Has  fled  before  its  heavenly  rays  ; 

Where  hoary  age,  and  blooming  youth, 

Revere  the  Bible’s  sacred  page, 

Receive  th’  unerring  words  of  truth, 

And  owa  its  power  from  age  to  age. 


80 


SUNDAY  EMPLOYMENTS. 


There  is 'a  land,  where  Christian  zeal 
With  holiest  ardor  fires  the  mind, 

Where  Christian  hearts  for  heathen  feel, 
And  Christian  labors  bless  mankind  ; 

A land  whose  missions  prove  the  flood 
Of  gospel-day,  from  pole  to  pole, 

And,  pointing  to  a Saviour-God, 

Invite  each  sin-benighted  soul. 

Oh,  yes  ! there  is  a land,  so  blest, 

So  favored,  so  serenely  fair, 

That  peace  has  built  her  halcyon-nest, 

And  virtue  found  a refuge  there. 

There  all  the  social  comforts  meet, 

And  in  the  calm  domestic  bower, 

Grows  every  fragrant,  heart-felt  sweet, 

And  piety’s  unfading  flower. 

Sweet  England  ! dearest,  happiest  land  ! 

Fain  would  I strive  thy  charms  to  paint ; 
But  ev’n  the  poet’s  magic  hand 
Must  own  its  brightest  touches  faint. 

Land  of  the  brave,  the  good,  the  free  ! 

In  distant  climes,  where’er  we  roam, 
Remembrance  “ fondly  turns  to  thee,” 

And  owns  thee  still  its  better  home. 

O Home ! thou  sweet,  endearing  theme  ! 

Thou  central  point  of  earthly  bliss  ! 

How  bright,  how  beauteous  dost  thou  seem, 
When  viewed  from  such  a land  as  this  ! 
To  thee  the  heart  instinctive  turns, 

In  sorrow’s  dark  and  trying  hour ; 

For  thee  the  exile’s  bosom  burns, 

And  feels  through  life  thy  magic  power. 

England  ! let  other  regions  boast 
Their  brighter  skies,— their  golden  fruit,— 
Thy  holier  claims  shall  ne’er  be  lost, — 

Thy  juster  praise  shall  ne’er 'be  mute. 
Dearer  than  Gallia’s  gayest  smile, 

Or  fair  Italia’s  richest  bloom, 

Thou  art  religion’s  favorite  isle, 

And  peace  and  virtue’s  quiet  home. 

What  though  thy  summers  languid  seem  1 
No  fatal  curse,  no  dire  disease, 

Shoots  from  thy  sun’s  benignant  beam, 

Or  mingles  in  thy  healthful  breeze. 

What  though  thy  wintry  months  be  drear 
’Tis  then  domestic  circles  meet ; 
Affection’s  smiles  their  dullness  cheer, 

And  fire-side  comforts  make  them  sweet. 

Then  hail  to  thee,  thou  loveliest  land  ! 

Thou  beauteous  isle  ! thou  brightest  gem 
That  nature’s  “wonder-working  hand” 

Has  fixed  in  ocean’s  diadem  ! 

Green  be  thy  smiling  vales,  and  sweet 
Each  murmuring  rill,  each  hallowed  grove 
Still  may  thy  echoing  hills  repeat 
The  sounds  of  harmony  and  love  ! 


SUNDAY  EMPLOYMENTS. 


81 


Beloved  Albion  ! may  thy  God, 

Whose  watchful  care  thy  comforts  own, 

Still  guard  from  ill  thy  hallowed  sod, 

And  still  thy  lot  with  blessings  crown. 

Secure,  unshaken,  may’st  thou  stand, 

A rock,  amidst  the  ocean’s  foam : — 

Still  may’st  thou  be  the  gospel-land, — 

The  land  of  peace, — the  land  of  home  ! 

It  may  easily  be  supposed  that  this  little  piece,  though  very  im- 
perfect, was  received  with  the  most  enthusiastic  delight  by  the 
English  girls;  but  none  more  feelingly  entered  into  its  spirit 
than  Lydia.  She  proudly  exulted  in  the  picture  it  drew  of  her 
native  country  ; and  the  tears  of  emotion  would  rush  to  her  eyes, 
while  repeating  some  of  its  descriptive  lines.  # 

The  most  affectionate  and  endeared  friendship  subsisted  be- 
tween Helen,  Louisa,  and  herself;  but  as  Louisa  was  more  decid 
edly  serious  than  either  of  her  friends,  she  knew  less  of  their 
sentiments  than  would  otherwise  have  been  the  case.  Lydia  and 
Helen,  also,  slept  in  the  same  room,  and  a similarity  of  tastes  and 
inclinations  insensibly  drew  them  nearer  to  each  other.  Hence 
arose  that  intimate  communion  which  seemed  almost  to  blend 
their  very  souls  into  one.  They  communicated  their  every  feel- 
ing to  each  other,  and  the  sweet  contagion  of  affection  made  those 
feelings  common  to  both.  But  there  was,  perhaps,  no  subject  on 
which  the  pliant  mind  of  Helen  so  completely  imbibed  the  senti- 
ments of  her  companion,  as  that  of  religion.  The  volatile  cha- 
racter of  Lydia  generally  enabled  her,  on  common  occasions,  to 
ward  off  the  effect  of  her  serious  impressions.  Yet  there  were 
moments  when  she  could  not  silence  those  convictions ; — when 
the  voice  of  conscience  would  be  heard,  and  its  faithful  admoni- 
tions inflicted  the  keenest  anguish.  It  was  during  one  of  these 
moments,  that  she  retired  to  her  room,  self-condemned  and  un- 
happy.  It  was  the  Sabbath  evening ; and,  during  the  two  hours 
of  study,  she  had  been  reading  again  (perhaps  for  the  twentieth 
time)  “ The  Decision.”  Little  conversation  passed  between  the 
two  friends,  while  preparing  for  bed  ; and  Lydia,  according  to 
her  custom,  extinguished  the  light.  She  bade  Helen  good  night, 
but  she  could  not  go  to  sleep  ; restless  and  miserable,  she  sat  on 
the  side  of  her  bed,  and  burst  into  tears.  Her  sobs  attracted  the 
attention  of  Helen,  who,  immediately  rising,  intreated  her  to  com- 
municate the  cause  of  her  distress. 

“ O Helen  ! I am  continually  offending  God ; I know  the  way 
of  truth,  yet  persist  in  refusing  to  follow  it.  I laugh  and  trifle  on 
the  brink  of  ruin,  and  obstinately  reject  the  Saviour  who  died  for 
me.  The  example  and  sentiments  of  Gertrude  have  pierced  my 
very  heart;  yet  I cannot  resolve  to  seek  the  Lord  in  earnest;  or, 
if  I did  resolve,  it  would  only  be  as  usual,  to  break  resolu- 
tions. Oh  ! what  shall  I do  ? I am  indeed  a miserable  creature  l’1 


82 


ROMISH  IBOLA  VRY. 


Helen  threw  her  arms  around  her  friend’s  neck,  and  wept  -n 
sympathetic  sorrow.  It  was  long  before  she  could  speak ; but  at 
length  she  said,  with  great  emotion,  “ My  dearest  Lydia,  believe 
me,  your  Helen  is  much  worse  than  you  are.  I,  too,  trifle  with 
my  convictions,  yet  do  not  feel  my  misery  as  you  do.  But  pray 
do  be  comforted  : I am  sure  you  have  eveiy  reason  to  be  so  *,  for 
you  know  Miss  Mortimer  often  says,  that  it  is  a sign  of  grace 
when  we  feel  our  sinfulness.” 

This,  however,  was  not  exactly  the  kind  of  comfort  which 
Lydia’s  case  required ; and  the  two  friends  continued  mingling 
their  tears  together,  till  fatigue  and  weariness  drove  them  to  seek 
refuge  in  sleep.  The  next  day  they  resolved  to  watch,  and  strive 
against  sin  ; and4heir  conduct,  for  a short  time,  was  more  serious 
and  consistent.  But,  alas  ! they  rested  on  their  own  strength, 
and,  like  a broken  staff,  it  mocked  their  vain  confidence.  “ Their 
goodness  was  a morning-cloud ; and  like  the  early  dew  it  faded 
away.”  The  world  and  their  passions  regained  their  wonted  in- 
fluence ; and  their  serious  impressions  once  more  vanished,  with 
out  producing  any  fruit. 

O ye,  whose  youthful  hearts  have  been  taught  to  feel  something 
of  the  power  of  divine  truth,  beware  how  you  wound  a tender 
conscience,  and  grieve  the  Spirit  of  God,  by  slighting  his  gracious 
admonitions.  Beware  lest  you  strew  a dying  pillow  with  thorns, 
or  draw  upon  you  that  most  awful  sentence, — “ Ephraim  is  join 
ed  to  idols, — let  him  alone  !” 


CHAPTER  XII. 

ROMISH  IDOLATRY. 

God  is  a Spirit,  and  they  that  worship  Him  must  worship  Him  in  Spirit  an 
in  truth. — John  iv.  24. 

The  winter  season  had  now  set  in,  and  the  Christmas  festival  was 
eagerly  expected.  Many  of  the  French  boarders  anticipated  a 
short  visit  to  their  friends,  during  the  few  holidays  which  were 
then  given.  To  the  English  girls,  indeed,  the  prospect  was  far 
from  being  so  bright ; but  some  of  them  had  acquaintances  in  the 
town,  or  its  vicinity,  who  would  naturally  invite  them  to  spend  a 
few  days  with  their  families  j and,  even  to  those  who  had  not  these 


ROMISH  IDOLATRY. 


S3 


advantages,  it  was  something  delightful  to  eirjoy  a temporary  re- 
laxation from  intense  study. 

“ Will  you  go  to  {he  Midnight  Mass,  Emily  ? ” asked  Miss  Lush- 
ington,  as  they  were  walking  in  the  garden  one  evening  about  a 
week  before  Christmas. 

“ I don’t  understand  you,  dear  Anna.” 

“ Oh!  you  don’t  know,  I suppose,  what  the  Midnight  Mass  is. 
Well,  I will  tell  you.  It  is  a ceremony  performed  on  Christmas 
eve,  and  l assure  you  it  is  very  grand.  The  cathedral  is  brilliantly 
lighted,  and  the  music  beyond  everything  beautiful.  They  have 
also  a representation  of  Christ  in  the  manger;  but  I suppose  you 
will  not  like  that,  for  they  prostrate  themselves  before  it,  and  you 
will  say  it  is  idolatry.”  m 

“My  opinion  of  Popish  superstition  is  not  likely,  I fear,  to  be- 
come more  favorable,  from  witnessing  the  ceremony  you  speak 
of.  But  do  all  the  young  ladies  go  ? ” 

“ Oh,  no!  only  a few  are  allowed  that  privilege,  as  the  cold  night 
air  makes  it  rather  dangerous ; but,  if  you  wish  to  see  the  sight, 
I dare  say  you  can  accompany  one  of  the  teachers.” 

* I have  a great  curiosity  to  witness  every  characteristic  feature 
of  the  church  of  Rome,  and  shall  therefore  go,  if  I have  an  oppor- 
tunity. But  the  more  I know  of  Popery,  the  more  thankful  do  I 
feel,  that  my  lot  has  been  cast  in  a country  which  is  comparatively 
free  from  its  baneful  influence.” 

Miss  Douglas,  Caroline,  and  Lydia,  having  also  expressed  a 
great  desire  to  see  the  Midnight  Mass,  Mademoiselle  Laval  kindly 
engaged  to  take  them  all  under  her  protection,  should  the  weather 
be  favorable,  and  Madame  d’EIfort  consent  to  their  going.  The 
night,  however,  happening  to  be  stormy,  that  lady  declared  she 
would  only  allow  Emily  and  Caroline  to  accompany  her;  but 
Rose  de  Liancourt,  after  many  pressing  entreaties,  was  subse- 
quently permitted  to  join  their  party.  She  was  the  only  French 
young  lady  who  manifested  a desire  to  attend.  - 

It  was  about  half-past  eleven,  when  they  entered  the  spacious 
cathedral.  It  was  splendidly  illuminated;  the  high  altar  was 
surmounted  by  a wreath  of  brilliant  lamps,  and  the  others  pro- 
fusely ornamented  with  tapers.  The  congregation  was  numerous, 
and  almost  every  one  had  brought  a small  taper,  to  increase  the 
general  glare.  The  priests,  in  their  magnificent  robes,  were  be- 
ginning to  celebrate  mass ; and  the  whole  presented  a spectacle 
of  imposing  splendor.  Emily  gazed  on  the  glittering  pageant, 
and  sighed ; for  she  thought  on  Him  whose  birth  it  was  intended 
to  commemorate,  and  felt  how  unacceptable  all  those  services 
must  be,  while  an  empty  form  was  substituted  for  spiritual  wor- 
ship, and  the  glad  tidings  he  came  to  bring  concealed  beneath  the 
veil  of  error  and  superstition.  She  thought  of  his  lowly  manger^ 
— of  his  obscure  and  indigent  state ; — his  humility,  and  aversion 


84 


ROMISH  IDOLATRY 


to  display ; — and  her  heart  turned  with  disgust  from  a scene  which 
appeared  to  her  little  better  than  mockery. 

The  service,  however,  proceeded,  and  she  began  to  feel  its  fasci- 
nating power.  The  music  was  not  only  exquisitely  beautiful,  but 
peculiarly  solemn  and  affecting.  Her  senses  were  soon  chained 
in  a sort  of  unconscious  rapture,  and  the  reality  of  the  scene  seemed 
lost,  in  a thousand  ecstatic  feelings.  The  great  bell  tolled  slowly 
the  hour  of  Midnight ; it  was  answered  by  the  loud  chanting  of 
the  priests,  the  swelling  anthems  of  the  singers,  and  the  thunder 
ing  peals  of  the  organ.  The  scene,  the  hour,  the  music,  all  con- 
spired to  overwhelm  the  mind  with  a kind  of  transporting  awe. 
Emily  closed  her  eyes,  and  was  scarcely  conscious  of  her  own 
existence,  when ^er  attention  wTas  arrested  by  a deep-drawn  sigh, 
and,  turning  rotftid  with  a start,  she  saw  Caroline  supported  by 
Mademoiselle  La va'l,  who  had  with  some  difficulty  prevented  her 
from  falling.  The  fainting  girl  was  immediately  conveyed  to  the 
outer  door  for  air,  and  as  soon  as  she  was  sufficiently  recovered, 
the  whole  party  returned  to  Madame  d’Elfort’s.  The  next  morn- 
ing, on  being  told  that  Miss  Howard  had  been  so  rnucfl  affected 
by  the  ceremony  as  to  have  been  conveyed  out  of  the  church  in  a 
fainting  state,  that  lady  took  the  opportunity  of  expatiating,  with 
evident  triumph,  on  the  solemnity  of  the  Catholic  service,  and  its 
peculiar  adaptation  to  the  worship  of  a great  and  glorious  God.  No 
remarks  were  made  in  answer;  but  Emily  could  not  divest  her- 
self of  an  undefined  feeling  of  uneasiness,  when  she  reflected  on 
the  effect  which  these  things  seemed  invariably  to  produce  on  the 
mind  of  Caroline. 

The  morning  of  Christmas-day  was  one  of  bustle  and  prepara 
tion.  The  Roman  Catholics  spent  nearly  the  whole  of  the  day  in 
church,  and  the  Protestants  were  allowed  to  attend  chapel  in  the 
morning.  They  dined  together  on  their  return,  and  the  kindness 
of  Madame  d’Elfort  favored  them  with  roast  beef,  instead  of 
boiled,  as  a treat,  in  memory  of  English  Christmas  dinners.  This 
was  an  unusual  occurrence,  ancf  the  children  enjoyed  it  according- 
ly ; but  many  a sorrowful  lamentation  was  uttered,  for  the  nice 
plum-puddings  of  dear  England,  and,  above  all,  for  the  meny  . 
gambols,  and  joyous  family  parties,  which  so  generally  distin 
guish  and  endear  that  day. 

The  weather  being  veiy  fine,  they  were  taken  in  the  afternoon 
to  see  various  exhibitions  in  miniature,  consisting  of  small  man 
gers,  in  which  were  laid  dolls,  dressed  like  infants  in  swaddling 
clothes,  and  surrounded  by  others,  intended  to  represent  the  Virgin, 
Joseph,  and  the  wise  men  of  the  east.  This  is  a very  favorite 
amusement  at  Christmas,  and  is  resorted  to  by  many  of  the  poor, 
for  the  purpose  of  collecting  small  sums  of  money,  by  exhibiting 
these  mangers  to  their  richer  neighbors.  The  young  ladies  were 
then  sent  into  the  school-room,  where  they  were  required  to  studj 


ROMISH  IDOLATRY. 


85 


till  supper-time,  in  order  to  prepare  for  the  monthly  examinations, 
which  were  to  take  place  in  a few  days.  Thus  ended  Christmas* 
day,  and  the  English  girls  who  had  remained  in  the  house  retired 
to  bed,  fatigued  and  dispirited,  and  breathing  the  ardent  wish,  that 
the  next  might  be  spent  within  the  hallowed  precincts  of  their 
own  happy  homes. 

Three  or  four  months  now  glided  away,  without  any  material 
•change  in  the  sentiments  or  conduct  of  the  little  English  party. 
Emily  continued  to  pursue  a steady  course  of  unostentatious  use- 
fulness. Caroline  was  as  reserved  as  before,  and,  though  she  paid 
the  same  attention  to  her  religious  duties,  invariably  shunned  all 
conversation  on  serious  subjects.  But  her  silence  was  unspeak- 
ably distressing  to  Emily,  who  saw  that  she  was  perplexed  and 
unhappy.  Emily,  however  could  discover  no  positive  grounds,  on 
which  she  might  found  an  application  for  their  removal  from 
school ; and  she  therefore  waited,  with  indescribable  anxiety,  for 
the  expiration  of  their  allotted  year,  applying,  at  the  same  time, 
with  the  most  intense  and  unceasing  attention,  to  the  acquisition 
of  the  language,  in  order  that  no  pretext  might  be  found  for  their 
being  condemned  to  a longer  stay. 

Lydia  and  Helen  continued  to  seek  her  society,  and  listen  with 
interest  to  her  advice  ; but,  alas  ! they  seldom  reduced  to  practice 
the  instructions  they  so  much  loved.  Their  actions  were  too  gen- 
erally guided  by  passion  or  feeling,  or  influenced  by  circumstances ; 
and,  as  their  wavering  minds  were  perpetually  tossed  to  and  fro, 
with  every  wind  of  temptation,  they  frequently  experienced  that 
painful  alarm  and  depression  of  soul  which  invariably  attend  an 
unsettled  religious  state. 

Louisa  maintained  a tolerable  consistency  of  conduct ; but  she, 
too,  was  far  from  being  happy.  She  neglected  the  habitual  watch- 
fulness which  is  so  necessary  to  a holy  and  comfortable  walk;  and 
the  inevitable  consequence  was,  a too  frequent  yielding  to  the 
more  subtle  temptations  which  surrounded  her.  The  volatile 
Emma  had  now  fallen  into  all  the  gay  and  pernicious  customs  of 
the  French;  and  little  Agnes  Beverley  was  not  only  immersed 
in  the  frivolities  of  the  place,  but  daily  imbibing  the  spirit  c 
Roman  Catholic  error  and  delusion. 

The  austerities  of  Lent  had  been  mitigated  to  the  English,  so  far 
as  to  allow  the  use  of  meat  three  times  a week.  But  this  abstin- 
ence was  now  drawing  to  a close,  and  the  joy  of  the  Catholics 
w^as  too  great  to  admit  of  concealment.  They  looked  forward  to 
Easter,  as  to  a season  of  feasting,  with  an  eagerness  which  fur- 
nished a striking  proof  of  the  absurdity  and  uselessness  of  com 
pulsatory  restrictions. 

Good  Friday  is  the  only  day  in  the  year,  on  which  mass  is 
celebrated  : — it  being  asserted  by  the  church,  that  the  expiating 
sacrifice  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  is  renewed  on  that  day,  in  a 
8 


86 


ROMISH  IDOLATRY. 


peculiar  and  efficacious  maimer.  Emily'did  not  neglect  the  o| 
portunity  of  pointing  out  to  her  friends  the  passages  of  scripture 
she  had  herself  examined  on  the  subject,  and  which  so  decidedly 
contradict  this  antichristian  notion,  by  declaring  that  “Christ 
was  once  offered,  to  bear  the  sins  of  many,”  that  “ he  offered  one 
sacrifice  for  sins,”  and  that  “ by  oiie  offering  he  hath  perfected  for 
ever  them  that  are  sanctified.”  They  read  together  the  ninth  and 
tenth  chapters  of  the  epistle  to  the  Hebrews,  which  so  expressly  * 
condemn  the  idolatry  of  the  mass,  and  even  Caroline  agreed  in  the 
unavoidable  conclusions  to  be  drawn  from  them. 

The  evening  before  Good  Friday,  a singular  arrangement  was 
made  at  the  Cathedral.  The  great  altar  was  overhung  with  a 
magnificent  canopy,  and  ornamented  with  wreaths  of  artificial 
flowers.  The  whole  was  illuminated  with  a great  number  of  ta- 
pers, and  the  box  containing  the  sacramental  wafer  deposited  in 
the  midst,  surrounded  with  flowers,  and  perfumed  with  incense. 
This  was  called  Paradise,  and  intended  to  represent  the  Saviour’s 
rest  in  the  tomb.  During  the  morning-service,  the  Cathedral  was 
suddenly  darkened,  to  imitate  that  mysterious  and  awful  gloom 
which  shrouded  the  face  of  nature,  when  the  earth  trembled  to  its 
foundations,  and  the  affrighted  sun  retreated  from  the  view  of  his 
Makers  sufferings. 

The  English  pupils  were  allowed  to  attend  the  Protestant  chapel 
in  the  morning  and  some  of  them  afterwards  accompanied  a 
teacher  to  hear  an  afternoon  sermon  in  the  cathedral.  The 
preacher  was  a good  orator,  and  exhausted  all  the  powers  of  his 
rhetoric  to  describe  the  Redeemer’s  passion.  But  how  cold,  how 
lifeless,  did  the  whole  performance  appear  to  Emily,  for  it  had 
none  of  that  sweet  savor  of  the  gospel ; none  of  that  simple, 
but  touching  eloquence,  which,  borrowing  all  its  energy  from  the 
pure  word  of  God,  appeals  with  irresistible  force  to  the  heart} 
While  describing  that  part  of  the  Saviour’s  sufferings,  when  his 
murderers,  fearing,  perhaps,  that  he  might  expire  under  the  weight 
of  his  cross,  and  thus  frustrate  their,  cruel  purpose,  compelled 
Simon  the  Cyrenian  to  assist  him  in  bearing  it,  the  preacher  in- 
formed his  hearers  that  this  action  was  a significant  emblem,  rep- 
resenting the  necessity  which  believers  were  under,  of  completing 
the  work  of  their  salvation,  by  the  aid  of  voluntary  sufferings,  mor- 
tifications, and  acts  of  self-denial. 

“ Oh  ! ” thought  Emily,  shocked  at  this  blasphemous  assertion, 

“ how  deplorable  would  be  my  condition,  if,  instead  of  striving 
after  holiness  with  a view  to  glorify  God,  and  evince  my  gratitude 
for  that  finished  salvation  which  He  has  wrought  out,  kwere  re- 
duced to  the  necessity  of  accomplishing  it  myself ! Alas ! I must 
inevitably  perish,  if  Christ  alone  cannot  save  me ! * 

She  turned  an  inquiring  look  on  Caroline’s  countenance.  It 
denoted  great  perplexity  of  thought,  and  its  prevailing  expression 


ROMISH  IDOLATRY. 


87 


was  one  of  deep  mental  distress.  The  tears  rushed  to  Emily’s 
eyes,  and  her  heart  became  solely  occupied  with  anxiety  for  her 
cousin,  till,  at  the  conclusion  of  the  service,  they  returned  to  Ma« 
dame  d’Elfort’s. 

In  the  evening,  it  was  proposed  to  visit  the  cathedral  once  more, 
for  the  purpose  of  surveying  at  leisure  the  beautiful  paradise. 
A glowing  description  of  it  had  been  given  by  those  young  ladies 
*who  had  before  witnessed  similar  exhibitions,  and  Emily  resolv- 
ed to  go  with  the  others,  if  she  could  first  ascertain  that  no  sem- 
blance of  idolatrous  worship  would  be  exacted  at  the  altar.  She 
inquired  of  Miss  Lushington,  and  one  or  two  others,  who  replied, 
that  they  had  knelt  like  the  French,  but  could  not  say  whether  or 
not  it  was  absolutely  necessary.  She,  therefore,  approached  Ma- 
dame d’Elfort,  who  was  sitting  alone  in  a window  recess,  and, 
seating  herself  by  her  side,  entered  into  conversation  with  her. 
The  subject  of  the  exhibition  being  soon  introduced,  the  governess 
kindly  invited  her  pupil  to  see  it,  assuring  her  it  would  well  re- 
pay her  curiosity. 

“ I should  like  to  go,”  said  Emily,  timidly,  “ but,  Madame,  is  it 
expected  that  every  one  should  kneel  ?” 

Madame  d’Elfort  turned  on  her  pupil  a scrutinizing  glance 
“ Surely,”  observed  she.  “you  would  not  think  of  approaching  so 
sacred  and  affecting  a representation,  in  any  other  posture  than  a 
kneeling  one  ?” 

Emily’s  eyes  were  instantly  bent  on  the  ground,  and  she  re- 
turned no  answer.  This  silence  would  soon  have  become  un- 
pleasant to  both  parties,  had  not  Madame  d’Elfort’s  sister,  who  re- 
sided with  her,  called  away  her  attention  to  some  other  subject. 

This  lady  was,  in  many  respects,  different  from  her  sister,  and 
had  much  more  of  the  character  of  her  nation.  She  was  very 
handsome,  gay,  and  thoughtless,  but  exceedingly  amiable,  kind- 
hearted,  and  indulgent  to  excess.  She  was  a universal  favorite 
with  the  young  ladies ; for  they  could  often  obtain  from  her  what 
they  would  scarcely  have  dared  to  ask  fifem  any  one  else. 

Emily  was  retiring  to  her  own  room,  when  this  lady  inquired, 
“ if  she  would  accompany  a party  of  young  ladies,  who  were  go- 
ing to  the  cathedral  under  her  guidance  ?” 

Emily  thanked  her  politely,  but  informed  her  that  she  had  no 
Intention  of  going. 

“ So  much  the  worse  for  you !”  exclaimed  Madame  d’Arblay, 
turning  away  with  quickness,  and  evidently  piqued  at  the  re- 
fusal. 

“ Why,  surely,  Miss  Mortimer,”  observed  Fanny  Gordon,  who 
was  putting  on  her  bonnet  to  go,  “ you  will  not  lose  the  opportu- 
nity of  seeing  so  magnificent  a sight !” 

“ I cannot  go,”  replied  Emily,  “ for  my  principles  will  not  allow 
me  to  bow  the  knee  to  an  idol.” 


88 


ROMISH  IDOLATRY. 

“ What  hypocrisy !”  exclaimed  Miss  Parker,  with  a sneer,  as 
she  hurried  past  on  her  way  to  the  church.  Fanny  Gordon  and 
Catharine  Stanhope  shrugged  their  shoulders,  with  a contemptu- 
ous smile,  and  even  the  good-natured  Miss  Lushington’s  counte- 
nance assumed  an  expression  of  pity. 

“ Nonsense,  Emily !”  observed  she,  “ if  your  scruplbs  are  so 
very  great,  you  may  at  least  venture  to  go  with  Madame  d’Arblay. 
You  know  she  is  very  indulgent,  and  I am  sure  she  will  not  scold* 
even  if  you  remain  standing.  Come,  do  be  persuaded,  and  don’t 
make  yourself  so  ridiculous.  ’ 

“ Thank  you,  dear  Anna,  for  your  kind  solicitude  on  my  ac- 
count, but  I think  it  is  safer  not  to  tempt  the  danger.”  So  saying 
she  was  ascending  the  staircase,  when  she  again  met  Madame 
d’Arblay  who  was  followed  by  Caroline. 

“ You  will  not,  then,  accompany  your  cousin,  Mademoiselle 
Mortimer  inquired  that  lady,  as  she  drew  Caroline’s  arm  into 
hers,  and,  wTith  a bland  smile,  offered  the  other  to  Emily. 

A sudden  revulsion  of  feeling  caused  the  blood  to  rush  from 
Emily’s  cheek  to  her  heart.  She  felt  an  irresistible  desire  to  ob- 
serve Caroline’s  conduct  at  the  cathedral,  and,  requesting  Ma- 
dame d Arblay  to  wait  for  her  a moment,  hurried  on  her  cloak 
and  bonnet,  and  rejoined  her  in  the  hall. 

Both  the  cousins  were  much  agitated,  and  Emily  scarcely  al- 
lowed herself  to  think.  When  they  entered  the  cathedral,  Louisa, 
Helen,  and  Lydia,  approached  her  in  the  crowd,  with  looks  of 
consternation. 

“ Oh ! Miss  Mortimer !”  exclaimed  they,  “ what  shall  we  do  * 
We  could  not,  you  know,  refuse  to  come  ; bnt  shall  we  be  obliged 
to  kneel 

“ You  cannot,  surely,  think  of  doing  so  !”  replied  she,  with  ear- 
nestness, yet  feeling,  at  the  same  time,  self-condemned,  at  the 
consciousness  that  she  herself  was  running  into  temptation.  The 
two  parties  were  immediately  separated,  and,  pressing  her  hand 
on  her  throbbing  heart,  ^ if  she  could  thus  calm  the  agitation  of 
her  thoughts,  she  tremblingly  followed  Madame  d’Arblay  to  the 
high  altar. 

A feeling  of  indescribable  awe  crept  over  her,  as  she  contem- 
plated the  illusive  pageant.  Her  excited  imagination  was  not 
proof  against  the  imposing  splendor  and  solemn  silence  of  the 
place.  Convinced  as  she  felt,  of  the  real  mockery  concealed  un 
der  this  apparent  reverence,  she  could  not  entirely  resist  the  fas- 
cinating spell  which  it  was  so  well  calculated  to  throw  over  the 
senses.  She  cast  a hasty  glance  around  her,  and  observed  the 
other  party  not  far  from  her,  with  Mdlle.  Laval  at  their  head. 
They  were  all  on  their  knees,  except  Louisa  and  Lydia,  whose 
bending  posture  seemed  intended  as  a sort  of  compromise  be 
tween  fear  and  duty. 


THE  NUNS  OF  ST.  THOMAS. 


89 


Her  eyes  were  now  fearfully  directed  towards  Caroline, 
who  was  leaning,  half  fainting,  against  the  back  of  a chair. 
Her  eyes  were  closed,  as  if  to  conceal  or  suppress  her  emotion ; 
but  the  pallid  cheek  and  quivering  lip  too  plainly  betrayed  an  in- 
ward conflict.  A heavy  sigh  somewhat  relieved  Emily:s  oppressed 
heart,  and  she,  too,  placed  her  hand  before  her  eyes,  to  shut  out 
the  scene  altogether  from  her  view. 

A slight  movement  near  her  roused  her  attention ; she  raised 
•her  head,  and  saw  Madame  d'ElfOrt,  kneeling  at  the  altar,  with 
another  party  of  her  school-fellows.  A lightning-glance  of  dis- 
pleasure escaped  that  lady,  as  she  observed  the  two  cousins  stand- 
ing; but  no  further  notice  was  taken  of  the  circumstance, 
although  Emily  observed,  on  leaving  the  cathedral,  that  the 
sparkling  countenance  of  Madame  d’Arblay  was  slightly  over- 
cast by  a fTT.w”. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  NUNS  OF  ST.  THOMAS. 

For  fhey,  being  ignorant  of  God’s  righteousness  and  going  about  to  establish 
their  own  righteousness,  have  not  submitted 'themselves  unto  the  right- 
eousness of  God. — Rom.  x 3. 

The  anxious  and  contending  feelings  which  so  incessantly  occu- 
pied the  mind  of  Emily,  joined  to  the  extreme  severity  of  the  win- 
ter, and  the  total  absence  of  everything  like  English  comfort,  now 
began  to  manifest  their  effects  on  a delicate  constitution.  She 
was  seized  with  a low,  nervous  fever,  which,  though  it  soon  yield- 
ed to  the  efforts  of  medical  skill,  left  her  in  a state  of  great  weak 
ness,  and  incapacitated  her  for  active  exertion. 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  tenderness  and  affection  shown  her 
by  her  friends,  hut  especially  by  Caroline,  and  Mademoiselle  de 
Liancourt.  The  latter,  indeed,  could  seldom  pass  much  time  with 
her,  in  consequence  of  the  almost  monastic  strictness  which  per- 
vaded every  rule  of  the  house  ; but  the  former  seemed  entirely  to 
have  resumed  her  former  character,  and  to  be  only  alive  to  the 
health  and  comfort  of  the  beloved  invalid.  There  was  but  one  sub- 
ject on  which  the  most  perfect  confidence  did  not  exist  between 
them : but  there  was  an  unembarrassed  freedom  in  her  manner, 
which  seemed  to  Emily  the  dawn  of  a brighter  day  ; and  hope  again 
smiled,  as  she  pointed  to  the  future. 

8* 


THE  NUNS  OF  ST.  THOMAS. 


t/0 

As  the  intensity  of  the  cold  abated,  and  Emily  began  to  recovef 
her  strength  and  spirits,  the  physician  advised  that  she  should  take 
as  much  exercise  as  possible.  Madame  Dorville,  an  intimate 
friend  of  Madame  d’Elfort’s,  who  had  always  manifested  a great 
partiality  for  the  cousins,  now  offered  to  accompany  them  in  fre- 
quent excursions  to  the  country — and  generally  took  Emily  out 
every  fine,  day  for  a walk.  The  lady  possessed  a highly  cultivated 
mind,  and  great  vivacity  of  disposition : she  was,  therefore,  a most 
agreeable  companion,  and  particularly  insinuating  in  her  manners. 
Her  conversation  was  eminently  sensible,  varied,  and  interesting; 
and  her  penetrating  insight  into  character,  gave  her  considerable 
influence  over  those  with  whom  she  associated.  Her  attachment 
to  the  religion  she  professed  amounted  to  positive  bigotry,  and  she 
had  long  wished  for  an  opportunity  of  converting  the  young  per- 
sons she  now  patronized.  She  would  not,  indeed,  openly  attack 
their  principles,  but  resolved  to  set  all  the  fascinations  connected 
with  her  religion  before  their  eyes  in  the  light  which  she  saw  would 
be  most  likely  to  produce  a powerful  impression  on  their  minds. 

With  this  view,  she  one  day  invited  them  to  pay  a visit  to  one 
of  the  hospitals.  They  gladly  accepted  the  proposal ; for,  besides 
the  lively  interest  which  an  institution  for  the  relief  of  suffering 
humanity  must  excite  in  every  feeling  mind,  their  curiosity  was 
not  a little  awakened,  by  the  description  of  the  nuns  of  St.  Tho- 
mas, who,  they  were  informed,  fulfilled  all  the  duties  of  nurses  to 
the  sick  in  those  establishments. 

“ You  can  form  no  idea,”  said  Madame  Dorville,  as  they  pro- 
ceeded to  the  hospital,  “ of  the  exalted  virtues  which  distinguish 
these  benevolent  ladies.  No  sacrifice  seems  too  great,  no  under- 
taking too  painful,  no  act  of  condescension  too  humiliating  for 
their  piety  and  charity.  Born  in  the  highest  and  most  respectable 
circles, — educated  in  the  most  delicate  manner,  and  accustomed 
to  move  in  the  most  brilliant  society,  they  forsake  their  families, 
their  comforts,  and  all  the  allurements  of  the  world,  to  embrace  a 
life  of  self-denial,  and  stoop  to  the  most  degrading  offices  ! They 
pass  their  days  and  nights  by  the  beds  of  the  sick  and  afflicted  ; 
they  dress  their  wounds,  prepare  their  medicines,  administer  their 
nourishment,  soothe  their  pains,  sympathize  in  their  sorrows,  and 
either  contribute  essentially  to  their  recovery,  or  smoothe  with  an- 
gel hands  their  passage  to  the  grave.  Is  not  this  sublime  devoted- 
ness  ? Is  not  this  the  most  exalted  piety  V’ 

Emily  was  spared  the  necessity  of  answering  this  subtle  ques- 
tion, by  their  entering  a small  church,  which  was  connected  with 
the  hospital.  Madame  Dorville  dipped  her  finger  in  the  bason  of 
holy  water  at  the  door,  and  crossed  herself  ; a profound  silence  en- 
sued, while  they  walked  up  the  centre  aisle  of  the  building,  and 
observed  the  different  objects  it  contained.  It  was  distinguished 
by  the  same  gorgeous  magnificence  which  everywhere  marks  Ro* 


THE  NUNS  OF  ST.  THOMAS. 


91 


man  Catholic  places  of  worship.  The  principal  altar  was  profuse- 
ly decorated  with  silver  candlesticks,  wax  tapers,  and  rich  paint- 
ings. Several  inferior  altars  were  placed  in  small  chapels  devoted 
to  the  saints,  along  the  two  sides  of  the  church.  An  air  of  mys- 
terious solemnity  seemed  to  pervade  the  whole  place.  A few  in- 
firm old  people  were  repeating  their  prayers  in  different  spots ; 
and  the  figure  of  one  of  the  nuns,  kneeling  at  a side  altar,  not  a lit- 
tle heightened  the  picturesque  effect  of  the  scene. 

Having  remained  a few  minutes  absorbed  in  contemplation, 
Madame  Dorville  led  the  way  to  the  hospital.  She  stopped  a few 
minutes  at  the  door,  to  speak  to  a former  servant  of  Madame  d’ 
Elfort’s,  who,  being  disabled  by  a rheumatic  complaint,  had  been 
lately  received  into  the  institution.  Jeannette  had  not  left  Mad- 
ame d’Elfort’s  till  some  time  after  the  arrival  of  Emily  and  Caro- 
line ; they  were  extremely  partial  to  her,  for  they  had  always  found 
her  particularly  obliging  ; and  the  poor  girl  was  delighted  to  see 
them  again.  She  was  about  to  lead  them  to  the  room  on  the  first 
floor  of  the  building,  when  the  lady  they  had  before  seen  in  the 
church  passed  by  them,  and,  bowing  in  silence,  entered  the  apart- 
ment before  them. 

“ The  mother  is  going  to  read  the  chapelet ,”  said  Jeannette,  drop- 
ping a curtesy,  “ and  as  these  young  ladies  are  not  Catholics,  they 
had  better  wait  till  it  is  over  before  they  enter.” 

So  saying,  she  led  them  into  a small  side-room,  and  instantly 
returned  for  prayers. 

The  little  apartment  in  which  they  now  were,  might  well  have 
been  taken  for  a druggist’s  shop,  so  completely  was  it  furnished 
with  every  kind  of  medicine  and  cordial  restorative.  These  were 
arranged  with  the  greatest  order  and  neatness,  and  presented  a pic- 
ture at  once  pleasing  to  the  eye,  and  grateful  to  the  feelings. 

“ These  are  all  prepared  by  the  ladies  themselves,”  said  Mad- 
ame Dorville ; “ they  study  pharmacy,  that  they  may  be  able  to 
compound  all  the  medicines  that  are  necessary  in  the  house.  The 
lady  who  just  now  passed  us  is  Maria  Thersee  de  Joinville.  She 
belongs  to  one  of  the  first  families  of  the  town.  At  the  age  of  sev- 
enteen she  renounced  all  the  pleasures  of  fashionable  life,  and  evin- 
ced the  strongest  desire  to  take  the  veil ; but  her  family  were  de- 
cidedly opposed  to  her  wishes  : they  tried  every  method  to  detain 
her  in  the  world,  and  absolutely  forbade  the  sacrifice  she  meditat- 
ed. She,  however,  was  steadfast  in  her  purpose,  and  persevered 
in  it,  notwithstanding  every  kind  of  discouragement.  Having  at 
length  surmounted  every  obstacle,  and  wrung  a reluctant  consent 
from  her  family,  she  took  the  veil  at  nineteen,  and  has  now  been 
eighteen  years  the  constant  attendant  on  the  poor  of  this  hospital. 
Before  that  period,  I was  intimately  acquainted  with  her,  and 
never  have  I known  a young  person  more  engaging,  or  better  cal- 
culated to  shine  in  society.  But  her  devotedness  to  the  cause  of 


92 


THE  NUNS  OF  ST.  THOMAS. 


religion  and  humanity,  has  left  me  at  so  immense  a dis/ance  from 
her,  that  I feel  as  if  she  were  now  a being  of  another  world.” 

* Madame  Dorville’s  enthusiasm,  while  she  spoke  of  her  friend, 
seemed  to  have  communicated  itself  to  the  minds  of  her  young 
auditors,  for  Emily  felt  much  moved,  and  Caroline’s  eyes  were 
suffused  with  tears.  Jeannette  now  re-entered  the  apartment,  and 
offered  to  conduct  them  to  la  mere  Joinville  ;-the  familiar  and  endear- 
ing appellation  of  mother  being  that  by  which  these  ladies  are  inva- 
riably addressed  by  the  poor. 

The  religieuse  met  them  at  the  door  of  her  ward,  and  received 
them  with  the  most  engaging  politeness.  She  was  an  interesting 
woman,  with  a countenance  peculiarly  expressive  of  every  amia- 
ble feeling,  but  evidently  in  very  delicate  health. 

The  apartment  which  they  now  entered  was  of  great  length, 
and  occupied  two  sides  of  the  building.  It  was  extremely  clean 
and  airy,  and  the  long  rows  of  beds  looked  very  comfortable.  In 
the  angle  formed  by  tlie  middle  of  the  room  was  an.  altar;  over 
which  was  placed  a figure  of  the  Virgin.  The  sick  and  infirm 
persons  in  this  room  had  an  appearance  of  content  and  comfort, 
which  was  truly  gratifying,  and  they  all  seemed  to  regard  the 
mother  with  feelings  of  veneration  and  love. 

“ I should  think,”  said  Madame  Dorville  to  the  nun,  after  they 
ha.d  walked  through  the  ward,  spoken  to  some  of  the  patients,  and 
inquired  into  the  cases  of  others, — “ that,  in  addition  to  the  painful 
nature  of  the  duties  you  have  to  perform,  you  must  sometimes  be 
in  great  danger  from  infectious  disorders.” 

“ True,”  replied  the  nun,  “ but  the  good  God  in  whom  wre  trust, 
and  for  whose  sake  we  do  everything,  has  generally  preserved  us 
During  the  war  with  England,  we  sometimes  had  seven  or  eigh' 
hundred  soldiers  under  our  care,  wounded,  dying,  or  attacked  with 
contagious  disorders.  To  meet  the  numberless  wTants  of  these 
poor  creatures,  to  undergo  all  the  fatigue  attendant  on  the  care  oi 
them,  and  to  fulfil  all  the  laborious  duties  of  the  establishment, 
there  were  only  twenty  of  us,  assisted  by  a few  of  the  infirm  old 
men  and  women  residing  here.  Yet  no  sister  suffered  materially ; 
and,  after  all,  our  employments  are  less  trying  than  those  of  the 
Grey  Sisters.” 

t;  Well,  your  charity  is  certainly  beyond  all  praise,”  observed 
Madame  Dorville,  after  the  religieuse  had  led  them  through  two 
other  apartments,  similar  to  her  own.  “ I see  that  my  two  young 
friends  here  are  struck  with  admiration,  and  lam  sure  they  would 
feel  very  much  inclined  to  follow  your  example,  though  Miss 
Howard’s  countenance  certainly  betrays  at  this  moment,  a great 
want  of  the  courage  necessary  for  such  an  undertaking.” 

The  nun  looked  at  the  pallid  cheeks  of  Caroline,  and  observing 
that  the  scene  had  too  much  affected  her  spirits,  led  the  way  to 
her  own  little  apartment,  near  the  centre  of  her  ward. 


THE  NUNS  OF  ST.  THOMAS. 


93 


“ Have  I not  heard  you  say,  Miss  Mortimer,”  inquired  Madame 
Dorville  of  Emily,  “ that  you  would  like  very  much  to  be  a rcligi- 
euse  de  la  charite  ?” 

Before  she  could  answer,  Madame  de  Joinville  asked,  with  a pe- 
culiar expression,  “ Are  these  young  ladies  Catholics 

Caroline  started,  and  Emily  could  not  suppress  a smile,  but 
Madame  Dorville  answered,  in  a tone  of  sadness,  “ Alas,  no !” 

“ Ah!  then,”  observed  the  nun,  in  the  same  tone,  “there  is  a 
great  deal  to  be  done,  before  Mademoiselle  could  become  one  of 
us.” 

“ I should  be  very  unhappy,  indeed,”  observed  Emily,  still  smil- 
ing, “if  I did  not  consider  myself  a true  Catholic.” 

The  nun  looked  surprised,  and  requested  that  she  would  explain 
herself. 

“ You  refuse  us  that  title,”  continued  Emily,  “but  wTe  claim  it 
as  our  just  right ; for  we  belong  to  the  only  true  church — the  uni- 
versal church  of  Christ.” 

“ Oh  ! I understand  you  now;  you  mean  that  you  are  an  Apos- 
tolic, but  not  a Roman  Catholic.” 

Emily  assented,  and  Madame  Dorville  observed,  with  that  insin- 
uating flattery  so  characteristic  of  her  nation. 

“ If  my  young  friends  are  not  Catholics,  they  want  but  that ‘ one 
thing  needful for  they  are  everything  else  that  can  be  wished, 
in  talents,  in  goodness,  and  piety” 

Emily  and  Caroline  interrupted  her,  by  disclaiming  the  excel- 
lences she  attributed  to  their  characters ; but,  however  disgusted 
and  annoyed  by  her  flattery,  they  could  not  arrest  her  voluble 
tongue,  till  the  former  at  length  observed,  that,  admitting  they  did 
indeed  possess  all  these  exalted  virtues  and  advantages,  they  would 
be  but  additional  motives  for  gratitude  and  humility. 

“ Humility!”  exclaimed  Madame  Dorville,  “ I can  scarcely  con* 
ceive  how  they  can  produce  humility.” 

“ How  can  a creature,”  inquired  Emily,  “ be  proud  of  what  she 
has  received  as  a free  gift,  from  the  hand  of  her  Creator  ? Would 
you  not,  Madam,  think  it  exceedingly  absurd,  for  a destitute 
beggar  to  glory  in  the  alms  which  have  been  bestowed  upon 
him  ?” 

Madame  Dorville  made  no  answer,  but  the  nun  and  she  looked 
significantly  at  each  other.  After  a few  unimportant  remarks,  the 
former  asked  Emily  why  she  did  not  acknowledge  the  pope  as  the 
head  of  the  church  ? 

“ Because,  madam,  I do  not  believe  that  he  has  any  scriptural 
ight  to  assume  that  title.” 

The  nun  referred  to  St.  Matthew  xvi.  18,  “ Thou  art  Peter,  and 
*pon  this  rock  I will  build  my  church,”  and  inquired,  if  she  did 
not  acknowledge  that  passage  to  be  the  word  of  God  ? 

“ I do,  madam,  but  the  meaning  you  attach  to  it  is  plainly  con- 


94 


THE  NUNS  OF  ST.  THOMAS. 


tradicted  by  numerous  other  parts  of  Scripture.  The  Bible  tells 
us  that  Christ  is  ‘ the  Rock,’  the  ‘ chief  corner  stone,’  and  the  ‘ only 
foundation.’ 

“ Beware,  mademoiselle,”  exclaimed  the  religieuse , hastily  inter- 
rupting her,  u that  you  do  not  give  the  Holy  Scriptures  an  errone- 
ous sense.  But  pray,  do  tell  me,  on  what  is  your  religion 
founded 

“ On  the  Bible,  madam  ; I am  not  only  a Protestant  by  educa- 
tion and  habit,  but  I am  one  from  principle  and  conviction.  Were 
I not  perfectly  satisfied  that  my  religion  is  the  most  agreeable  to 
Scripture,  I should  immediately  renounce  it.” 

“ But  your  parents,  probably,  would  feel  highly  displeased,  were 
you  to  take  such  a step  ” 

“ Admitting  that  such  were  the  case,  I do  not  think  that  even 
parental  influence  ought  to  prevail  in  a case  of  conscience.  I 
trust  I am  too  deeply  sensible  of  the  importance  of  eternal  things, 
to  risk  my  soul  on  mere  earthly  considerations  ; and  I again  repeat 
that  were  I not  perfectly  convinced,  perfectly  satisfied,  from  the 
sure  testimony  of  scripture,  of  the  excellency  of  the  Protestant 
faith  5 — had  I but  the  smallest  doubt  on  the  subject,  I would  give 
myself  no  rest,  till  I had  discovered  a better  way : and  when  I 
had  found  it,  I hope  no  human  influence  would  prevent  my  fol- 
lowing it.” 

“ But  have  you  taken  pains  to  be  rightly  informed  on  the  sub 
ject  ? Have  you  well  examined  the  grounds  of  difference  between 
us  ? Have  you  consulted  able  theologians,  or  other  persons  capa- 
ble of  giving  you  every  necessary  information  ?” 

“ I have  read  and  reflected  much,  but  have  applied  to  no  theo- 
logians ; and,  were  it  possible  for  me  to  consult  all  the  learned  men 
in  the  world,  what  would  it  avail  me  in  this  case  ? Their  opi- 
nions would  be,  after  all,  but  the  opinions  of  men,  and  I should  not 
dare  to  venture  my  eternal  interests  on  so  sandy  a foundation.” 

“ But  you  are  not  to  expect  that  God  will  work  a miracle,  to 
convince  you,  without  the  aid  of  human  agency.” 

“ True,  madam  ; God  does  not  generally  work  without  means  , 
but  he  has  given  us  a revelation  of  his  will,  which  is  sufficiently 
clear  and  explicit.  It  becomes  us  to  bend  in  humble  obedience  to 
that  divine  will ; to  ‘ search  the  Scriptures,’  and  pray  for  the 
teaching  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  that  we  may  discover  the  right  way ; 
to  try  our  opinions,  as  well  as  our  conduct,  by  the  test  of  God’s 
holy  Word  *,  and  to  abide  entirely  by  its  decision.” 

“ You  see,  my  dear  Marie  Therese,”  said  Madame  Dorville,  ris- 
ing, “ that  my  young  friend  knows  more  on  the  subject  of  religion 
than  you  do.” 

This  was  uttered  in  a half  ironical  tone *,  but  the  nun  replied, 
with  great  apparent  humility, 

“ That  is  very  possible,  for  my  knowledge  is  extremely  limited,* 


THE  NUNS  OF  ST.  THOM A.S. 


95 


but  religion  does  not  consist  in  knowledge  alone ; it  is  faith  that 
saves  us.” 

“ We  are,  indeed, 1 saved  by  grace  through  faith?  ” observed  Emily, 
with  peculiar  emphasis;  “ but,  my  dear  madam,  can  faith  have  a 
better  foundation  than  the  revealed  will  of  God  ? I have  prayed, 
and  do  earnestly  pray,  that  he  would  enable  me  to  understand  that 
will  aright : why,  then,  should  I seek  for  human  information,  on  a 
subject  respecting  which  lam  already  satisfied, from  the  unerring 
testimony  of  him  ‘ who  cannot  lie  V ” 

The  nun  now  gave  up  the  contest,  with  an  expressive  look  of 
compassion,  and  the  visitors  prepared  to  depart.  As  they  left  the 
religieuse , Emily  said  to  her, 

“ My  dear  madam,  since  you  do  not  believe  me  to  be  in  the  right 
way,  I hope  you  will  pray  for  me,  that  God  may  teach  me  the 
true  knowledge  of  his  will ; and  though  we  are  separated  here  by 
the  differences  of  religious  worship,  it  is  my  earnest  wish  that  we 
may  meet  in  the  same  heaven.” 

The  nun  responded  a fervent  amen  to  the  wish,  though  with  a 
look  of  melancholy  doubt,  and  promised  to  remember  Emily  in 
her  prayers. 

Caroline  had  been  particularly  attentive  to  the  conversation  at 
the  hospital,  though  she  had  preserved  an  almost  unbroken  silence. 
Madame  Dorville,  after  an  interval  of  deep  thoughtfulness,  during 
their  way  home,  at  length  resumed  the  conversation. 

“ If  your  religion  is  the  true  one,  Miss  Mortimer,  allow  me  to 
ask  you,  how  it  is  that  so  much  indifference  exists  among  you 
Protestants,  respecting  the  eternal  welfare  of  those  you  believe  to 
be  in  error  ? There  can  be  but  one  true  faith  ; and  as  we  conceive 
ours  to  be  that  faith,  we  are  most  anxious  to  bring  others  over  to 
our  way  of  thinking.  Every  true  Catholic  will  seize  any  oppor- 
tunity that  may  present  itself,  for  promoting  the  conversion  and 
eternal  welfare  of  those  who,  he  knows,  must  perish  if  they  remain 
in  error ; but,  though  I have  met  with  a great  number  of  Protest- 
ants, and  many,  too,  who  were  considered  veiy  religious,  I have 
never  seen  one  who  would  make  the  least  attempt  to  convert  those 
whose  religion  he  condemned.  Does  not  this  apathetic  indiffer- 
ence argue,  either  a total  want  of  sincerity  in  their  profession, 
or  very  little  confidence  in  the  goodness  of  their  cause.” 

Emily  felt  that  this  keen  reproof  was  but  too  well  deserved,  and 
blushed  for  the  inconsistency  of  professed  Christians.  “ You  must 
remember,  madam,”  observed  she,  “ that  the  Protestants  you  have 
conversed  with  were  living  in  a Roman  Catholic  country,  and  may 
have  been  deterred,  by  that  circumstance,  from  attacking  the  reli- 
gion of  its  inhabitants.  But,  as  all  who  profess  to  be  Christians 
are  not  really  such,  we  cannot  be  surprised  that  those  who  care 
little  for  their  own  souls,  should  feel  indifferent  about  the  salva- 
tion of  others.” 


96 


CLAIRE  DE  LI ANCOURT. 


They  were  now  near  Madame  d’Elfort’s  residence,  and  their 
conductress  proposed  paying  a short  visit  to  the  Grey  sisters,  be- 
fore they  re-entered  the  house. 

“ Have  you  ever  seen  these  excellent  and  devoted  women  ?” 
inquired  she,  turning  to  Caroline.  “ Your  cousin,  I know,  has 
paid  them  a visit,  but  perhaps  you  would  not  dislike  doing  the 
same.” 

The  thoughtful  countenance  of  Caroline  assumed  an  ashy  pale- 
ness ; she  complained  of  a severe  headache,  and,  declining  the  pro- 
posed visit,  they  returned  to  Madame  d’Elfort’s. 

Madame  Dorville  remained  to  supper,  and,  having  led  the  con- 
versation to  the  subject  of  the  hospital,  related  some  particulars 
of  their  evening’s  excursion.  Madame  d’Elfort  inquired,  what  her 
pupils  thought  of  the  nuns  of  St.  Thomas.  Emily  and  Caroline 
spoke  with  admiration  of  their  devotedness,  upon  which  their 
governess  exclaimed, 

“ Yes,  they  do  indeed  deserve  heaven  /” 

Emily  felt  shocked,  at  having  given  occasion  for  so  revolting  an 
observation.  Had  she  dared  to  answer,  she  would  immediately 
have  refuted  the  error  it  contained,  with  the  inspired  words  of  the 
prophet  Isaiah,  “ All  our  righteousnesses  are  as  filthy  rags,”  or 
the  Saviour’s  injunction  to  his  disciples,  “When  ye  shall  have 
done  all  things  that  are  commanded  you,  say,  we  are  unprofitable 
servants.”  But  it  was  not  permitted,  her  to  do  this,  and  she  was 
compelled  to  keep  silence,  till  an  opportunity  offered  for  changing 
the  conversation. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

CLAIRE  DE  LIANCOURT. 

To  what  purpose  is  the  multitude  of  your  sacrifices  unto  me,  saith  the  Lord'! 
Who  hath  required  this  at  your  hand  7— Isaiah  i.  11,  12. 

Preparations  were  now  making  throughout  the  towq,  for  what 
is  called  the  first  communion.  The  children  of  Roman  Catholic 
parents  are  introduced  to  auricular  confession  at  the  age  of  seven, 
and  at  ten  they  are  admitted  to  partake  of  the  Lord’s  Supper  On 
this  occasion  there  is  always  a family  feast,  and  the  young  com- 
municant is  quite  the  hero  or  heroine  of  the  day.  On  Emily’s  ex- 


CLAIRE  DE  LIANCOURT, 


97 


pressing  some  surprise  to  Madame  d’Arblay,  that  they  should  he 
admitted  to  the  most  solemn  ordinance  of  religion,  before  they 
could  well  comprehend  anything  of  its  nature,  that  lady  observed, 
that  their  youth  formed  their  best  qualification,  “ as  their  hearts 
were  still  pure , and  unpolluted  by  an  intercourse  with  the  world.” 

“ Oh  I”  thought  Emily,  “ how  contrary  to  the  declarations  of 
scripture,  that  ‘the  imagination  of  man’s  heart  is  evil  from  his 
youth.”5 

Rose  de  Liancoui;t  was  deeply  engaged  in  preparing  her  younger 
sister  for  the  occasion.  Little  Claire,  who  was  particularly  at- 
tached to  Emily,  had  been, ‘for  the  last  four  months,  forbidden 
by  her  confessor  and  governess  to  hold  any  unnecessary  inter- 
course with  her,  lest  the  society  and  caresses  of  a heretic  should 
corrupt  her  mind,  and  unfit  her  for  that  important  act,  on  which 
depended  her  future  character.  She  was  continually  told,  that 
“if  her  first  communion  was  not  perfectly  good,  it  would  have 
a most  baneful  influence  on  her  future  life  and  she,  therefore, 
habitually  shunned  her  former  friend,  though  her  affectionate 
disposition  often  frustrated  every  precaution. 

The  intended  communicants,  after  having  gone  through  a long 
course  of  catechetical  instruction,  were,  during  the  last  week, 
exempted  from  every  secular  duty,  and  incessantly  employed  in 
preparatory  exercises.  They  went  to  church  for  a considerable 
time  every  day,  and  were  studiously  secluded  from  all  inter- 
course with  the  Protestants.  Their  dress  was  an  object  of  the 
greatest  importance,  they  paraded  the  streets  in  the  most  elegant 
attire,  and  their  youthful  minds  were  entirely  absorbed  by  the 
gratification  of  vanity,  and  the  observances  of  superstition.  Those 
children  in  the  school  whose  parents  lived  at  no  great  distance, 
were  dressed  for  church  every  day  by  the  hand  of  maternal 
pride ; and  Rose,  whose  mother  was  unable  thus  to  manifest  her 
affection,  descended  regularly  from  the  school-room,  to  attend  on 
the  youthful  Claire. 

Three  days  before  the  intended  ceremony,  the  children  went 
in  procession  to  renew  their  baptismal  vow.  On  this  occasion, 
Rose  was  prevented  from  performing  her  usual  office,  for  she 
was  suddenly  called  home,  in  consequence  of  some  domestic 
occurrences  of  a painful  nature.  The  distance  was  not  great, 
but  the  length  of  her  stay  seemed  uncertain ; she,  therefore,  re- 
quested of  Madame  d’Elfort,  that  her  little  sister  might  be 
dressed  by  Miss  Mortimer,  during  her  absence.  The  governess 
seemed  reluctant  to  grant  this  permission;  but,  knowing  the 
affection  that  subsisted  between  these  two  young  persons,  and 
being  unwilling  to  grieve  the  already  oppressed  heart  of  Rose, 
she  consented,  on  condition  that  Mademoiselle  Saint- Andre,  the 
junior  teacher,  should  alone  superintend  the  religious  duties  of 
Claire. 


9 


98 


CLAIRE  DE  LIANCOtjKi. 


Emily  was  writing  to  Mrs.  Somerville,  when  Rose  suddenly 
entered  her  room.  Her  step  was  hurried,  and  her  face  swollen 
with  weeping.  “ I have  come  to  entreat  a favor,”  said  she, 
grasping  Emily’s  hand;  and  without  waiting  for  an  answer, 
she  continued,  in  an  agitated  voice,  “ My  father  has  sent  for 
me,  and  I am  compelled  to  leave  Claire  on  the  eve  of  her  first 
communion.  I know  that  her  religious  duties  will  be  attended 
to,  hut  oh ! she  will  want  a sister’s  hand  to  dress  her, — a sis- 
ter’s care  to  ensure  her  comfort.  Will  you,  my  dear,  dear  friend, 
supply  that  sister’s  place  7 To  your  tenderness  alone  can  I 
confide  my  sweet  Claire.” 

“ Dearest  Rose  !”  said  Emily,  with  surprise,  “ how  can  I under- 
take such  a charge  7 Madame  d’Elfort  will  not  entrust  her  to 

a Protestant,  more  especially  at  this  moment 

“ Madame  d’Elfort  has  consented.  Oh ! say  that  you  do  not  re- 
fuse. You  cannot,  you  will  not,  dearest  Emily!  and  I shall 
now  go  without  anxiety,  for  I know  you  enough,  to  be  per- 
fectly certain  that  you  will  not  interfere  with  her  religion.” 

“ But  how  long  will  you  be  absent,  Rose 
“ I know  not,  my  beloved  friend  ; perhaps  I may  never  return 
Trials  and  sorrows  are  fast  gathering  around  me.  Pray  for  your 
poor  Rose ! Farewell,  I must  be  gone.” 

At  that  moment  a loud  voice  from  below  rudely  calling  Made- 
moiselle de  Liancourt,  made  her  start  with  affright ; and  hastily 
disengaging  herself  from  Emily’s  embrace,  she  hurried  down 
stairs.  Emily  looked  through  the  window  and  saw  her  enter 
a carriage,  with  a coarse-looking  woman,  whose  dress  seemed  to 
denote  her  a kind  of  upper  servant. 

In  the  afternoon,  Mademoiselle  Saint- Andre  entered  Emily’s 
room,  leading  little  Claire  by  the  hand. 

“ I have  brought  you  Mademoiselle  Claire,”  said  she,  with  a 
look  of  mingled  scorn  and  displeasure,  “ in  order  that  you  may 
dress  her  for  church.  Her  sister  wished  it,  and  Madame  d’El- 
fort has  consented ; but  you  are  not  to  speak  a word  to  her  on 
the  subject  of  religion.” 

“I  shall  obey  the  commands  of  Madame  d’Elfort,  and  the 
wishes  of  my  friend,”  replied  Emily  calmly,  but  with  dignity. 

The  teacher  tossed  her  head,  in  a manner  peculiar  to  herself, 
when  she  chose  to  express  her  displeasure,  and  left  the  apart- 
ment. This  young  lady  had,  from  the  first,  manifested  a jealous 
dislike  of  Emily,  and  the  preference  now  shown  to  the  latter  by 
Rose  had  so  piqued  her  self-importance,  that  it  was  not  surprising 
she  should  display  a little  ill-nature  on  the  occasion. 

Emily  being  now  left  alone  with  her  young  charge,  began  to 
perform  her  office  of  waiting-maid,  by  attiring  her  in  the  fine 
muslin  dress,  and  rich  cap,  prepared  for  the  occasion.  Claire 
talked  of  her  sister,  as  if  she  anticipated  her  speedy  return,  ex 


CLAIRE  DE  LIANCOURT. 


99 


pressed  her  delight  at  being  under  Miss  Mortimer’s  care  during 
her  absence,  and  occasionally  betrayed  the  vanity  so  natural  in 
her  situation,  by  calling  her  friend’s  attention  to  the  different 
parts  of  her  dress,  with  an  evident  desire  to  elicit  admiration. 
Emily,  however,  was  absorbed  iri  sorrowful  meditation,  on  the 
injurious  tendency  of  this  foolish  display,  and  scarcely  heeded 
her  prattle,  till  the  little  girl  held  up  a valuable  necklace  of  pearls, 
and  inquired  if  she  did  not  admire  her  sister’s  beautiful  present  ? 

“ It  is  very  elegant,”  said  Emily,  as  she  clasped  it  round  the 
child’s  neck,  “ but,  my  dear  little  Claire,  do  not  be  so  much  occu- 
pied with  your  dress.  1 am  sure  your  sister  would  not  approve 
of  it,  nor  was  that  her  intention,  in  giving  you  the  necklace.” 
Claire  blushed  at  the  rebuke,  and  was  silent  for  a moment ; 
then,  taking  up  a cross  which  was  suspended  to  the  necklace,  she 
said, 

“ Now,  my  dear  Miss  Mortimer,  you  will  not  think  me  vain, 
for  prizing  this  little  cross.  It  is  only  of  plain  gold,  but  I would 
not  part  with  it  for  ten  times  its  value ; for  it  has  been  conse- 
crated by  our  holy  father  the  Pope,  and  there  are  a great  many 
indulgences  attached  to  it.” 

“ Indulgences !”  said  Lydia,  who  had  just  entered  the  room, 
“ what  kind  of  things  are  they  1” 

“ Why,  Miss  Howard,  do  you  not  know  what  indulgences  are  V* 
inquired  Claire,  with  surprise.  “ There  are  a great  many  belong- 
ing to  this  cross,  and  they  are  very  precious.” 

“ Where  are  they,  my  dear  Claire  ?”  resumed  Lydia,  examining 
the  cross  and  necklace,  with  apparent  curiosity.  “ I cannot  see 
any  of  them;  pray  point  them  out  to  me.” 

“ They  are  not  such  things  as  beads,”  replied  Claire,  looking 
somewhat  mortified  and  disconcerted.  “ I tell  you  they  are  in- 
dulgences from  the  Pope,  and,  though  we  cannot  see  them,  they 
are  not  the  less  valuable.” 

“ But  I do  not  understand  what  they  can  be,”  again  objected  the 
provoking  Lydia.  “ Tell  me,  Claire,  are  they  indulgences  for 
sin 

“ No,  certainly.  Miss  Howard,”  replied  the  little  girl,  half 
offended  at  the  observation,  “but,  since  you  do  not  use  them  in 
your  religion,  we  must  not  talk  about  them.” 

The  arch  expression  of  Lydia’s  countenance  indicated  a de- 
sire to  prolong  the  conversation;  but  Emily  gave  her  a look  of 
admonition,  and  advised  her  to  go  to  her  music. 

“Do  you  not  know  what  indulgences  are,  Miss  Mortimer'?” 
inquired  little  Claire,  as  soon  as  Lydia  was  gone.  Emily  was 
silent,  and  she  continued,  “ What  a strange  religion  yours  must 
be!  My  confessor  says  it  is  a very  bad  one,  and  that  no  here- 
tic can  be  saved.  But  I hope  you  will  be  a Catholic  at  'last, 
for  you  are  so  good  and  kind,  and  I love  you  so  much!  and 


100 


CLAIRE  m LtANCCCRT* 


my  sister  and  I say  a pater  noster  and  an  ave  Maria,  every  night 
and  morning,  for  your  conversion^  So  saying,  she  clasped  her 
arms  round  Emily’s  neck,  and  kissed  her  several  times  with 
childish  fondness. 

Emily  was  much  affected  by  this  artless  declaration.  To 
conceal  her  emotion,  she  passed  her  hand  over  the  glossy  brown 
ringlets  of  Claire,  in  order  to  keep  them  confined  in  smooth  bands 
beneath  her  cap  j then  kissing  the  blooming  cheek  of  the  little 
girl,  she  led  her  down  into  the  garden,  to  join  the  others. 

The  next  day  the  children  were  taken  in  procession  to  the  difi 
ferent  churches,  and,  after  spending  the  greater  part  of  the  day  in 
the  cathedral,  Claire  returned  home,  fatigued  and  exhausted,  and 
Was  sent  early  to  bed.  The  morrow  was  to  be  a day  of  important 
preparation,  and  Emily  Would  have  been  glad  to  be  exempted 
from  the  pain  of  witnessing  its  occupations. 

As  it  was  considered  of  great  consequence  that  the  young 
communicants  should  go  though  the  ceremony  in  a graceful  and 
unembarrassed  manner,  they  were  made  to  practise  their  parts 
the  day  before,  by  receiving  an  unconsecrated  Wafer,  in  the  same 
way  that  they  would  receive  the  host.  Emily  had  again  to  dress 
Claire  for  this  absurd  display,  which  was  attended  with  every 
circumstance  of  the  most  solemn  mockery  \ but,  to  her -inexpres- 
sible delight,  before  Claire  returned  from  the  Cathedral,  her  sister 
had  again  become  an  inmate  of  the  house. 

The  mild  countenance  of  Rose  bore  the  most  distressing  marks 
of  recent  sorrow.  She  was  pale  and  haggard,  and  had  evidently 
wept  almost  incessantly.  ^ Bladame  d’Elfort,  who  was  well 
acquainted  with  her  situation  and  trials,  sympathized  most  kindly 
in  the  sweet  girl’s  afflictions.  Rose  seemed  to  repose  in  her  gover- 
ness the  most  unlimited  confidence,  and  always  received  from  her 
every  mark  of  affectionate  interest.  Her  spirit  seemed  to  revive, 
when  she  found  herself  restored  to  the  society  she  loved,  and, 
though  her  mind  was  the  seat  of  continual  anxiety,  her  attention 
was  again  turned  to  the  approaching  festival,  in  which  her  sister 
wras  to  bear  so  important  a part. 

Afrer  the  ceremony  of  receiving  the  commwnion  cn  blanc , the 
children  returned  home,  for  the  purpose  of  going  through  a very 
affecting  scene.  This  was  to  entreat  the  blessing  of  their  parents, 
governess,  and  teachers,  and  also  the  forgiveness  of  their  com- 
panions, for  any  little  offences  they  might  at  any  time  have  com- 
mitted against  them.  Previous  to  this  act,  they  listened  to  a long 
exhortation  from  Madame  d’Elfort,  in  her  own  room. 

Emily  was  in  the  salon , with  several  young  ladies,  examining 
the  large  wax  tapers  which  the  communicants  were  to  carry  on 
the  following  day,  when  a gentleman  entered,  and  Ann  Lushing- 
ton  whispered  in  her  ear — “ the  Baron  de  Liancourt.”  The  young 
ladies  immediately  retired,  but  were  met  on  the  threshold  b\ 


CLAIRE  DE  LI  AN  COURT. 


101 


Rose,  who,  seizing  Emily’s  hand,  drew  her  back  into  the  room, 
and  introduced  her  to  her  father,  as  the  kind  friend  whom  she  had 
so  often  mentioned  to  him,  and  who  had  taken  charge  of  Claire 
during  her  short  absence.  The  baron. bowed  with  graceful  polite- 
ness, and,  in  the  most  flattering  termr,  expressed  his  gratitude  to 
Mademoiselle  Mortimer,  for  her  affectionate  attention  to  his  little 
girl.  He  was  a man  of  about  fifty,  tall  and  martial  in  his  appear- 
ance ; his  manners  were  noble  and  dignified,  but  his  countenance 
exhibited  traces  of  many  evil  passions,  and  there  was  a sternness 
in  his  eye,  which  struck  Emily  as  peculiarly  forbidding.  He  was 
just  expressing  a hope  that  Miss  Mortimer  would  favor  him  by 
visiting  his  chateau , in  company  with  his  daughter,  when  Madame 
cTElfort  appeared,  leading  in  the  youthful  Claire,  whose  cheek, 
pale  with  excessive  emotion,  indicated  a consciousness  of  being 
placed  in  a situation  of  awful  importance.  She  approached  her 
father  with  trembling  steps,  and  Emily,  anxious  to  avoid  in- 
truding on  the  scene  which  she  knew  was  going  to  take  place, 
bowed  in  silence  to  the  baron,  and  glided  out  of  the  room. 

She  had  been  about  half  an  hour,  writing  some  French  exer- 
cises, when  a gentle  tap  at  her  door  made  her  rise  to  open  it,  and 
Rose  entered,  leading  the  still-weeping  Claire. 

“ My  sister  is.  come  to  beg  your  forgiveness,”  said  she,  and  the 
little  girl  threw  herself,  sobbing,  into  Emily’s  arms. 

“ My  forgiveness,  dear  Rose ! I assure  you  Claire  has  never 
offended  me.” 

“ Oh,  yes ! yes  !”  sobbed  the  child,  “ I gave  you  a great  deal  of 
trouble,  when  you  dressed  me ; and  I have  sometimes  said  very 
foolish  things  to  you ; and,  besides,  you  know  I must  obtain  the 
blessing  of  all  those  I am  bound  to  respect.” 

“ May  God  forgive  and  bless  you,  then,  my  dear  little  girl,”  re- 
plied Emily,  much  affected,  and  straining  the  sweet  pleader  to 
her  heart. 

The  feelings  of  Claire  had  been  so  highly  wrought  up,  during 
the  last  hour,  that  she  could  not  control  her  agitation,  but  con- 
tinued to  cry  and  sob  almost  hysterically,  and  without  intermis- 
sion, till  her  sister  made  her  lie  down  on  her  bed,  to  compose  her- 
self before  she  returned  to  the  cathedral.  Having  obtained  the 
forgiveness  of  everybody,  and  a certificate  of  good  conduct  from 
their  governess,  the  little  girls  were  in  the  evening  re-conducted 
to  church,  where,  after  a final  confession,  they  received  absolu- 
tion, and  permission  to  present  themselves  at  the  altar  the  follow- 
ing morning.  On  their  return  to  the  school,  they  were  regarded 
with  perfect  veneration,  as  little  saints  entirely  freed  from  sin, 
and  too  pure  to  mix  with  less  holy  beings  ; and,  in  order  to  pre- 
serve them  from  contagion,  they  were  secluded  in  Madame  d’El- 
fort’s  room,  till  the  hour  of  their  retiring  to  rest.  It  was  then 
necessary  that  some  person  should  be  with  them,  to  talk  to  them 
9* 


102 


CLAIRE  DE  LIANCOURT. 


on  the  subject  which  ought  alone  to  occupy  their  thoughts, 
read  them  some  suitable  exhortation,  and  make  them  repeat  all 
the  prayers  prescribed. 

Madame  d’EIfort  was  indisposed,  and  the  teachers  could  not  be 
spared ; that  lady,  therefore,  deputed  Rose  to  be  the  guardian  of 
the  young  communicants,  declaring,  as  she  did  so,  with  an  em- 
phasis which  crimsoned  the  modest  cheek  of  that  amiable  girl, 
that  she  could  not  have  intrusted  so  important  a charge  to  any 
other  pupil  in  the  house. 

As  the  next  day  was  to  be  a feast,  the  evening  was  chiefly  spent 
in  various  preparations.  To  Emily’s  surprise,  she  found  that 
Caroline  was  engaged  to  spend  the  day  at  Madame  Dorville’s,  and 
was  preparing  to  leave  the  house  with  that  lady’s  daughter.  So- 
phia Dorville  had  lately  manifested  a great  partiality  for  her,  and 
Emily  could  not  object  to  the  arrangement,  though  she  suffered  a 
little  uneasiness  in  consequence  of  it. 

Emily  retired  to  her  room  somewhat  earlier  than  usual.  She 
had  hardly  taken  up  her  Bible,  with  the  intention  of  reading  a 
little,  when  she  was  suddenly  startled  by  a suppressed  sob,  which 
proceeded  from  the  chamber  of  Rose.  She  arose,  much  alarmed, 
and  without  pausing  to  reflect,  hastened  to  the  spot,  and  opened 
the  door  without  knocking.  She  saw  Rose,  just  rising  from  her 
knees,  with  a book  in  one  hand,  and  a rosary  in  the  other.  Per- 
ceiving that  she  had  intruded  on  her  devotions,  Emily  was  retir- 
ing in  some  confusion,  when  an  irresistible  desire  to  comfort  her 
afflicted  friend  made  her  pause  and  turn  back.  Rose  met  her  at 
the  door,  and  embraced  her  without  speaking.  She,  too,  was  evi- 
dently confused  and  her  face  was  bathed  in  tears. 

“ My  dearest  friend  ! ” said  Emily,  “.will  you  not  allow  me  to 
sympathize  in  your  sorrows  ? You  are  unhappy,  Rose.  Oh ! 
that  I could  comfort,  or  assist  you !” 

“ Alas  ! that  is  beyond  your  power,  my  beloved  and  kind  Emily ; 
but  I will  reveal  to  you  a part  of  my  misery.  I have  just  seen  the 
communicants  retire  to  rest,  and  watched  over  the  last  waking 
moments  of  my  sweet  little  Claire ; dear,  innocent  little  creatures  ! 
they  are  so  holy  and  happy  ! I envied  them  their  feelings,  for  I 
remembered  mine,  when  placed  in  the  same  situation.  Oh ! I 
have  never  been  so  happy  since,  for  my  heart  has  never  been  so 
devoted  to  God,  so  free  from  the  influence  of  sinful  thoughts  and 
worldly  feelings  ; and  I felt  oppressed  with  a load  of  insupportable 
guilt,  while  Madame  d’Elfort’s  partial  commendation  overwhelm- 
ed me  with  self-reproach.” 

Emily  could  not  speak,  and  after  a pause,  Rose  resumed— “ I 
will  not  say  that  this  is  the  only  subject  which  at  this  moment 
afflicts  me.  Oh,  no  ! I have  sorrows  which  I must  not  now  dis- 
close, but  which,  I dare  say,  you  will  one  day  know  But  you  do 
not,  you  cannot  possibly  imagine  the  misery  of  having  a heart  so 


THE  FIRST  COMMUNION. 


103 


sinful  as  mine ; and  just  now,  while  engaged  in  prayer  for  the  fu- 
ture happiness  of  Claire,  I felt  as  if  no  mortification  could  ever 
avail,  to  make  me  holy  and  happy.” 

“ The  blood  of  Jesus  Christ  cleanseth  from  all  sin,’  ” at  length 
articulated  Emily,  almost  choked  with  emotion.  Rose  devoutly 
crossed  herself,  and  replied, 

“ I know  it,  my  dear  friend ; but  we  must  also  be  purified  by 
penances  and  mortifications.  Oh  ! if  you  knew  how  much  I need 
them !” 

Emily  durst  not  pursue  the  conversation,  for  she  feared  to  over- 
step the  bounds  of  prudence ; but  she  could  not  help  weeping  bit- 
terly, at  the  painful  restraint  thus  laid  upon  her.  To  divert  her 
attention  from  the  subject  she  approached  the  little  bed  of  Claire. 
The  sweet  child  had  fallen  asleep,  with  the  smile  of  happiness  on 
her  lips.  Her  soft  hair,  though  smoothly  combed  down,  for  the 
purpose  of  being  disposed  in  plain  bandeaux  the  next  morning,  had 
escaped  in  two  or  three  straggling  ringlets  down  her  cheek. 
“ Poor  lamb !”  thought  Emily,  as  she  surveyed  her,  “ must  thou, 
too,  be  a victim  at  the  shrine  of  this  detestable  delusion  ?”  A 
deep  sigh  burst  from  her  heart,  as  she  gently  pressed  her  lips  on 
the  fair  open  forehead  of  Claire.  The  touch  half  aroused  her ; 
she  clasped  with  her  little  fingers  the  hand  of  Emily,  and  softly 
murmured,  “ Blessed  Virgin  ! make  me  good  and  holy  like  your- 
self r 

Emily  could  bear  no  more.  She  turned  hastily  away,  and  em- 
bracing Rose,  hurried  to  her  own  room,  there  to  pour  out  her 
heart  in  earnest  supplication,  to  him  who  could  alone  enlighten 
the  minds  thus  painfully  involved  in  the  gloom  of  error  and  de» 
iusion. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  FIRST  COMMUNION. 

Wherefore  do  ye  spend  money  for  that  which  is  not  bread,  and  your  labor  for 
that  which  satisfieth  not?  Hearken  diligently  unto  me,  and  eat  ye  that 
which  is  good,  anti  let  your  soul  delight  itself  in  fatness.— Isaiah  lv.  2. 

The  morning  of  the  premiere  communion  was  ushered  in  by  the 
ringing  of  bells,  and,  at  four  o’clock,  the  children  were  aroused 
from  their  slumbers,  to  be  iressed  for  the  important  exhibition. 


104 


THE  FIRST  COMMUNION. 


They  were  not  allowed  to  take  anything,  not  even  a drop  of  wa 
ter,  previous  to  going  to  church.  Rose  was  busily  engaged  in 
preparing  her  sister,  and  the  elegant  simplicity  of  Claire’s  attire 
excited  th,e  general  admiration  of  the  English  girls  They  could, 
however,  catch  but  a transient  glimpse  of  her,  as  her  sister  con- 
ducted her  to  Madame  d’Elfort’s  apartment,  where  the  young 
communicants  belonging  to  the  school  were  all  assembled. 
Emily’s  window'  overlooked  that  part  of  the  building,  and  she  and 
Lydia  followed  them  with  their  eyes.  Rose  put  a richly-orna 
mented  missal  into  her  sister’s  hand,  and,  as  she  embraced  her, 
suspended  a plain  gold  locket  round  her  neck.  She  then  dismiss- 
ed her,  and,  concealing  her  face  with  her  handkerchief,  hurried 
back  to  her  own  room. 

“ What  a swreet  creature  is  Rose !”  exclaimed  Lydia,  as  she 
lost  sight  of  her,  “ but  howT  very  sad  she  always  looks  ! I am 
sure  she  is  unhappy,  and  Mademoiselle  Saint  Andre  told  us  last 
night,  that  her  father  was  a very  wicked  man,  and  that  his  con- 
duct had  driven  her  mother  to  distraction  ” 

Emily  w7as  too  much  affected  to  make  any  remark  on  this  ex- 
planation of  poor  Rose’s  melancholy,  and  Lydia  was  about  to 
proceed,  Avhen  Louisa  and  Helen  entered,  and  informed  them  that 
the  communicants  wrere  just  going  to  set  out  for  the  appointed 
place  of  general  meeting ; w'hich  wras  the  church  belonging  to 
the  hospital.  They,  therefore,  descended  to  the  salon,  from  whence 
they  could  see  the  little  train  cross  the  lawrn,  on  their  way  to  the 
outer  gate. 

The  children  were  all  dressed  in  white,  but  the  materials  of 
their  dress  wTere  different,  and  varied  w7ith  the  inequality  of  for- 
tune, or  the  variety  of  taste.  Some  w7ere  habited  in  richly  em- 
broidered muslins,  or  tulle,  w hile  others  w^ere  only  distinguished 
by  the  neatness  and  simplicity  of  their  appearance.  Their  pele- 
rines, caps,  and  veils,  displayed  the  same  variety.  The  dress  of 
Claire  wras  of  expensive  materials,  and  intended  to  denote  her  fa- 
ther’s rank;  but  her  sister  had  contrived  to  exclude  every  unne- 
cessary ornament,  and  her  appearance  wTas  therefore  rather  ele- 
gant than  fine. 

The  little  ones,  with  Madame  d’Elfort  at  their  head,  walked 
slowly  and  regularly  out  of  the  house,  with  their  veils  partly 
thrown  back,  and  partly  concealing  their  faces.  They  carried  in 
their  hands  the  large,  heavy  tapers,  and  were  followed,  by  others 
of  their  companions,  w'ho  were  going  to  the  sacrament  for  the 
second  time,  and  w'ere  only  distinguished  by  having  no  tapers. 
As  they  issued  from  the  door,  Emily  silently  pressed  the  hand  of 
Claire  ; but  the  little  girl  started  back,  as  if  she  dreaded  the  touch, 
and  hurried  away,  without  even  looking  up. 

As  soon  as  they  were  gone,  the  other  pupils  were  summoned 
to  dress,  in  order  to  be  ready  to  follow  the  procession,  when  it 


THE  FIRST  COMMUNION. 


105 


should  pass  the  house,  on  its  way  to  the  cathedral.  The  Catho- 
lics went  first  to  church,  under  the  care  of  Mademoiselle  Saint- 
Andre,  and  the  others  were  to  await  the  procession,  with  Made- 
moiselle Laval. 

They  were  hardly  assembled  at  the  outer  gate,  when  a con 
fused  murmur,  and  the  trampling  of  feet,  announced  the  approach 
of  the  pageant.  In  front  of  it  walked  a little  girl  from  the  charity- 
school,  carrying  a large  gilt  cross,  and  two  priests  with  a stan- 
dard, on  which  was  delineated  an  image  of  the  Virgin,  with  an 
inscription,  requiring  the  children  to  acknowledge  her  as  their 
mother.  Then  followed  a choir  of  young  ladies,  singing  an  an- 
them, in  which  they  were  occasionally  joined  by  the  priests,  who, 
in  great  numbers,  mixed  with  the  procession.  The  other  chil- 
dren then  came  on,  bearing  their  immense  tapers ; the  poor  and 
the  rich  were  promiscuously  disposed,  and  presented  altogether 
a very  interesting  spectacle.  It  was  not  difficult  to  perceive, 
however,  that  many  of  them  were  far  more  engrossed  by  the 
thoughts  of  their  dress  and  appearance,  than  by  the  occasion 
which  thus  brought  them  under  public  notice.  But  this  was  evi- 
dently not  the  case  with  Claire,  whose  fluctuating  color,  trem- 
bling pace,  and  downcast  eyes,  indicated  excessive  emotion.  The 
streets  and  windows  were  crowded  with  spectators,  and,  after  the 
boys,  who  closed  the  procession  in  the  same  order  as  the  girls, 
came  a multitude  of  people  of  all  descriptions,  who  thronged  to 
the  cathedral,  to  witness  the  ceremony. 

Mademoiselle  Laval  now  led  forward  her  little  train,  for  whom 
accommodation  had  been  provided  in  the  organ-gallery.  As  they 
entered  through  a side-door,  to  reach  this  place,  they  saw  the 
communicants  moving  slowly  up  the  central  aisle,  towards  the 
high  altar.  An  unusual  bustle  was  at  that  moment  observable 
among  them,  and  they  suddenly  stopped.  Every  eye  was  direct- 
ed to  one  spot,  and  a little  girl  was  seen,  leaning,  pale,  and  breath- 
less, against  her  companion.  It  was  Claire,  whose  agitation  was 
so  great  that  she  was  sinking  under  the  weight  of  her  taper.  . A 
venerable  priest  approached  her,  and  spoke  in  a low  and  encou- 
raging tone.  The  fainting  child  was  at  length  relieved  by  a gush 
of  tears ; and  the  priest,  having  given  her  taper  to  another,  sup- 
ported her  gently  towards  the  altar. 

“ That  is  Monsieur  de  Beauvais,  Rose’s  confessor,”  observed 
Anna  Lushington,  in  a whisper  to  Emily.  “ He  is  a dear,  kind  old 
man,  and  seems  to  feel  for  those  children  the  affection  of  a father.” 

The  young  ladies  now  ascended  to  the  organ-gallery,  and  placed 
themselves  so  as  to  command  an  advantageous  view  of  the  high 
altar.  The  communicants  were  still  slowly  approaching  it : their 
soft  hallelujahs  were  almost  drowned  in  the  majestic  peals  of 
the  organ.  At  length,  after  some  bustle,  they  were  all  seated  at  a 
little  distance  from  the  altar.  Looking  down  the  body  of  the 


106 


THE  FIRST  COMMUNION. 


church,  Emily  observed  Caroline  and  Emma  Selwyn,  with  the 
Dorville  family.  They  also  saw  her,  but,  whether  from  this,  or 
any  other  circumstance,  it  was  impossible  to  say,  the  whole  party 
immediately  removed  to  another  situation,  in  which  she  could 
not  see  them. 

The  pompous  and  splendid  solemnities  of  the  high  mass  now 
commenced.  To  most  of  the  English  girls  they  had  lost  the 
charm  of  novelty,  but  not  their  hold  on  the  senses  and  the  ima- 
gination. At  the  conclusion,  the  organ  began  a strain  of  the 
most  captivating  sweetness,  blended  with  a thrilling  solemnity. 
The  attention  of  the  congregation  was  now  intensely  fixed  on  the 
youthful  communicants,  while  the  final  preparations  were  going 
forward.  Emily’s  eyes  immediately  sought  Claire,  and  she  ob- 
served her  rise,  and  walk,  with  faltering  steps,  to  Monsieur  de 
Beauvais.  She  knelt  at  his  feet,  and,  as  his  head  was  bent  over 
her,  she  whispered  something  in  his  ear.  The  old  man  spoke  a 
few  words,  apparently  in  reply,  then,  placing  his  hand  kindly  on 
her  head,  led  her  back  to  her  place. 

“ She  has  been  confessing,”  observed  Miss  Lushington,  whose 
good-nature  led  her  to  be  Emily’s  constant  informant.  “ It  is  a 
point  of  conscience  with  them  to  confess,  before  they  approach 
the  altar,  any  sin  they  may  have  forgotten  in  their  last  confession, 
or  committed  since.” 

The  appointed  priests  were  now  standing  round  the  altar,  with 
Monsieur  de  Beauvais,  as  grand  cure  of  the  town,  at  their  head. 
The  children,  formed  into  several  divisions,  were  successively 
ranged  around  it,  and,  on  their  knees,  awaited  their  own  partici- 
pation in  the  ceremony.  Two  priests  held  a long  white  linen 
cloth  before  them ; one  was  placed  behind  them,  to  hold  back 
their  heads ; a third,  with  a silver  spoon,  of  a very  peculiar  con- 
struction, placed  on  their  tongues  the  consecrated  wafer,  which 
they  were  to  swallow  immediately ; and  a fourth  held  a small 
plate  of  the  same  metal  under  their  chins,  lest  the  host  should, 
by  any  accident,  fall  to  the  ground.  The  whole  of  this  scene 
presented  a subject  of  merriment  to  most  of  the  English  girls, 
in  which  they  would  doubtless  have  indulged,  had  they  not  been 
restrained  by  the  presence  of  the  French  teacher ; but,  to  Emily, 
its  ludicrous  appearance  did  not  disguise  the  reality  of  its  super- 
stitious character.  Every  feeling,  however,  was  soon  absorbed 
in  the  enchantment  of  the  music  ; the  full  and  rich  tones  of  the 
organ  were  exquisitely  blended  with  the  melting  voices  of  the 
finest  singers  in  the  town,  and  the  melody  was  altogether  so  en- 
trancing, that  it  seemed  to  raise  the  ravished  soul  above  mor- 
tality and  all  its  cares.  Emily  and  Lydia  felt  its  fascinating 
power  in  no  common  degree  ; and,  as  the  service  concluded,  and 
they  descended  from  the  gallery,  the  latter  repeated,  while  her 
eyes  sparkled  through  her  tears,  those  beautiful  lines  of  the  poet,-' 


THE  FIRST  COMMUNION. 


107 


Now  loud  the  tuneful  thunders  roll, 

And  rouse  and  elevate  the  soul 
O er  earth  and  all  its  care ; 

I seem  to  hear,  from  heavenly  plains. 

Angelic  choirs'1  responsive  strains, 

And  in  their  raptures  share. 

Before  the  procession  left  the  cathedral,  all  the  children’s  tapers 
were  lighted  at  the  altar.  Our  young  ladies  then  returned  home 
and  awaited  its  re-appearance  at  the  front  gate.  It  is  impossible 
to  conceive  anything  more  imposing,  and,  at  the  same  time,  more 
affecting,  than  the  sight  of  these  lovely  children,  in  their  uniform 
white  drapery.  The  solemnity  and  stillness  of  their  tread,  and 
the  flickering  glare  of  their  tapers,  gave  to  the  whole  scene  an  air 
of  dreamy  uncertainty  that  almost  bewildered  the  senses;  the 
deep  voices  of  the  priests,  and  the  sweet  touching  harmony  of 
the  children,  as  they  uttered  the  frequent  and  prolonged  hallelu- 
jahs, seemed  to  make  Emily’s  heart  pause  ; but  when  the  mourn- 
ful truth  rushed  on  her  mind,  that  all  these  interesting  beings 
were  but  the  deluded  votaries  of  superstition,  the  revulsion  of  op- 
pressed feeling  overcame  her,  and  a burst  of  tears  came  to  her  re- 
lief. 

“ What  is  the  matter,  Emily'?”  inquired  Anna,  with  a look  and 
tone  of  alarm.  “ Are  you  ill  T* 

“ Oh!  nothing,  nothing,  dear  Anna.  I am  very  well;  but,  tell 
me,  do  you  not  find  this  scene  very  affecting '?” 

“ Oh,  is  that  all  V*  exclaimed  Miss  Lushington,with  a shrug,  and 
a smile  of  good-natured  raillery.  K Why,  yes,  I found  it  very  pa- 
thetic at  first,  but  now  it  appears  to  me  superlatively  ridiculous.” 

Emily  made  no  further  observations,  for  she  perceived  that 
Anna’s  feelings  on  the  subject  had  never  been  in  unison  with  her 
own  ; and  the  whole  party  returned  to  the  house,  to  discourse  on 
the  events  of  the  morning.  Emily  retired  to  her  room,  to  pray 
that  God  in  Christ  Jesus  would  reveal  himself  to  the  dear  chil- 
dren she  had  just  beheld,  and  that  he  would  graciously  preserve 
all  those  who  were  dear  to  her,  from  the  delusions  that  surround- 
ed them. 

Lydia  and  Helen  now  entered,  to  inform  her  that  the  school 
was  assembled  in  the  garden,  awaiting  the  summons  to  breakfast, 
and  that  the  communicants  were  returning  from  the  Hospital 
church,  whither  they  had  gone  to  deposit  their  tapers,  and  receive 
he  final  benediction.  The  friends,  therefore,  descended,  and,  just  as 
they  joined  the  group,  Emily  observed  little  Claire  approaching. 
Rose,  whose  pale  countenance  still  retained  the  traces  of  tears 
and  emotion,  flew  to  meet  her,  and  the  sweet  child  flung  herself 
into  her  sister’s  arms,  and  sobbed  on  her  bosom.  Madame  d’El- 
fort  at  that  moment  appeared,  and,  with  gentle  violence,  parting 
Me  sisters,  spoke  a few  kind  words,  of  mingled  reproof  and  en- 
couragement, to  each;  and  then  Irew  Claire  towards  the  other 


108 


THE  FIRST  COMMUNION. 


young  ladies.  The  child  embraced  her  school-fellows,  and  then 
approached  the  small  arbor  where  Emily  was  sitting.  She  led 
by  the  hand  two  little  girls  from  the  charity-school,  her  compa- 
nions at  the  communion,  it  being  the  custom  for  every  young  lady 
to  choose  one  or  two  poor  children  on  that  occasion,  and  bring 
them  home  to  share  in  the  festivities  of  the  day.  Emily  pressed 
Claire  to  her  heart,  with  inexpressible  emotion,  and,  as  she  kissed 
her  dimpled  cheek,  from  which  the  bloom  of  health  had  been  dis 
placed  by  the  tears  and  agitation  of  that  morning,  the  sweet  child 
twined  her  arms  round  her  friend’s  neck,  and  whispered,  “ You 
must  not  be  angry  with  me,  for  my  rudeness  in  not  speaking  to 
you  this  morning  ; we  were  commanded  to  observe  the  strictest 

reserve,  and  especially  not  to  speak  to to ...the  Protestants ,n 

she  at  last  articulated,  as  the  effort  to  suppress  the  word  “ here- 
tics” used  by  her  instructors,  covered  her  face  with  the  crimson 
of  embarrassment.  She  sought  to  hide  her  confusion,  by  turning 
to  her  humble  companions,  and  Emily,  unable  to  make  any  other 
answer,  again  kissed  her  affectionately,  and,  with  a sigh,  walked 
towards  the  house. 

The  bell  now  summoned  the  whole  party  to  the  salle  a manger , 
where  a plentiful  and  elegant  breakfast  was  prepared.  The  com- 
municants were  placed  along  the  upper  part  of  the  table,  and  each 
young  lady  had  her  protegees  by  her  side.  Every  possible  honor 
was  paid  to  the  heroines  of  the  day,  and  every  mark  of  distinc- 
tion heaped  upon  them ; they  were  the  queens  of  the  feast,  or 
rather  the  idols  of  the  moment,  considered  as  sanctified  by  the 
sacrament  of  which  they  had  partaken,  and  looked  up  to  with  su- 
perstitious veneration.  At  dinner,  the  same  honors  were  bestow 
ed  upon  them,  and  in  the  afternoon  they  paraded,  with  their  hum 
hie  companions,  through  the  town,  paying  visits  to  their  different 
friends  and  connexions,  and  receiving,  at  every  house,  the  same 
incense  of  adulation,  the  same  flattering  marks  of  distinction  and 
regard.  As  it  was  intended  that  this  day  should  be  the  happiest 
of  their  life,  nothing  that  could  enhance  their  pleasure,  or  satisfy 
their  utmost  wishes,  was  denied  them;  and  the  proud  triumph  of 
gratified  vanity,  that  sparkled  in  every  eye,  and  flushed  every 
youthful  cheek,  bore  sufficient  testimony  to  the  baneful  effects  of 
this  practice. 

On  the  following  Sunday,  the  communicants  again  went  to 
mass  in  procession,  accompanied  by  their  protegees , who  once 
more  dined  with  the  family,  and  then  were  dismissed  with  a hand- 
some present.  This  was  the  last  day  of  greatnessto  the  objects 
of  the  festival ; after  having  been  almost  deified  through  the  w eek, 
they  now  fell  back  into  their  original  obscurity. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


SCHOOL  PERSECUTION. 

Blit,  as  then,  he  that  was  born  after  the  flesh  persecuted  him  that  was  bcin 
after  the  Spirit,  eVen  so  it  is  now. — Gal.  iv.  29. 

The  employments  of  the  school  resumed  their  usual  settled  and 
peaceful  order,  and  Emily  occasionally  enjoyed  the  pleasure  of  a 
little  conversation  with  Rose,  but  was  inexpressibly  grieved  to 
find  that  the  shade  of  sorrow,  which  she  had  so  often  observed 
before  on  her  countenance,  had  now  deepened  into  a gloom  which 
overspread  her  character,  and  gave  a tinge  of  melancholy  sadness 
to  all  her  actions.  Her  attention  to  religious  observances  seemed 
doubly  fervent,  and  the  almost  austere  expression  which  over- 
shadowed her  fair,  open  brow,  every  day  gave  opportunity  for  satire 
to  her  gay  and  irreligious  companions.  The  taunting  appellation 
of  Saint  Rose  was  that  by  which  she  was  now  commonly  ad- 
dressed, by  most  of  the  French,  and  sometimes  by  many  of  the 
English  girls.  The  patient  meekness  with  which  she  strove  to 
bear  these  malicious  sarcasms,  only  seemed  to  give  confidence  to 
her  youthful  tormentors,  and  the  poor  girl  evidently  suffered  many 
a painful  conflict,  in  maintaining  the  dominion  over  feelings 
naturally  acute,  and  even  somewhat  irritable, 

It  was  the  custom  of  the  house,  that  the  Roman  Catholics  should 
attend  early  mass  every  morning,  confess  every  month,  and  occa- 
sionally spend  some  hours  in  the  church,  for  the  purpose  of  retire- 
ment and  public  devotion.  They  were  always  attended  by  one  of 
the  teachers,  or  by  Madame  d’Elfort  herself.  On  one  of  these  oc- 
casions, they 'had  remained  somewhat  longer  than  usual,  and,  as 
breakfast  had  been  delayed  on  their  account,  a group  of  anxious 
inquirers  surrounded  them  on  their  return,  to  ask  the  cause  of  their 
having  been  thus  detained.  Mademoiselle  Laval,  who  had  escort- 
ed the  party,  immediately  explained  it,  much  to  their  amusement. 

“ We  were  coming  away  more  than  a quarter  of  an  hour  ago,” 
said  she,  K had  not  Rose  de  Liancourt  prevented  us.  She  had  been 
the  last  at  her  devotions,  and  we  had  been  obliged  to  summon  her 
away  from  the  Virgin’s  chapel;  but,  just  as  we  reached  the  Ca- 
thedral door,  she  accosted  me  with  one  of  her  imploring  looks. 

‘ Oh,  mademoiselle,  do  pray  allow  me  to  return,  for  one  instant,  to 
the  altar! — I have  totally  forgotten  a very  important  petition, 
which  I wished  to  present  to  God:’  I could  not  resist  the  little 
simpleton’s  entreaty,  but  we  all  wished  her  prayers  somewhat 
shorter,  for  she  is,  really,  very  tiresome,  though  her  naivete  is  so 
infinitely  amusing.” 

A general  burst  of  laughter,  from  her  giddy  auditors,  followed 

10 


110 


SCHOOL  PERSECUTION. 


this  speech  of  the  good-natured  but  thoughtless  teacher ; and  many 
were  the  arch  glances,  and  satirical  remarks,  of  which  poor  Rose 
was  the  object,  both  from  the  Protestants  and  Roman  Catholics. 
Madame  d’Elfort,  indeed,  knew  nothing  of  all  this.  Her  venera- 
tion for  the  ordinances  of  her  church,  and  her  high  sense  of  ex- 
ternal religion,  would  have  led  her  to  bestow  unqualified  praise  on 
the  earnest  and  absorbing  devotion  of  her  pupil,  and  to  censure 
severely  those  who  made  a jest  of  what  they  ought  to  have  imi- 
tated ; but  much  of  what  passes  in  a large  establishment  must 
inevitably  remain  unknown  to  the  person  who  presides  over  it. 

She  did  not  ask  any  question  respecting  the  unusual  delay  that 
had  occurred,  though  it  necessarily  occasioned  a great  deal  of 
bustle,  as  the  day  happened  to  be  one  of  those  set  apart  every 
month,  for  the  examination  of  the  pupils.  They  were  required, 
on  that  day,  to  write  down  from  memory  the  substance  of  all  they 
had  learnt  from  history  during  the  preceding  month,  and  the  same 
system  was  pursued  with  regard  to  geography,  and  most  of  their 
other  studies.  These  exercises  occupied  the  whole  school-time, 
and  in  the  evening,  several  pupils  who  had  not  finished,  were  al- 
lowed to  remain  in  the  school-room,  under  the  care  of  a teacher, 
in  order  that  they  might  complete  their  task.  Among  these  last 
were  Emily  and  Rose.  The  former,  whose  anxiety  to  do  justice 
to  her  subject  had  prolonged  her  labors,  but  whose  quickness  of 
memory  and  capacity  enabled  her  to  get  through  them  without 
much  difficulty,  had  leisure  occasionally  to  look  around  her,  and 
to  observe  the  intense  attention  which  the  latter  bestowed  on  her 
work.  She  had  a long  analysis  to  write,  of  a particularly  difficult; 
portion  of  history  ; and  the  deep  thoughtfulness,  and  often  dis- 
tressing expression  of  her  countenance,  denoted  that  her  recollec* 
tions  were  sometimes  perplexed.  So  entirely  was  she  absorbed 
in  her  employment,  that  she  heeded  nothing  of  what  was  passing 
around  her  ; but  her  mild  eyes  were  often  raised  to  heaven,  as  if 
supplicating  assistance  from  thence,  and  she  crossed  herself  with 
fervor,  and  uttered  a silent  ejaculation.  Two  or  three  of  her 
school-fellows,  who  sat  opposite  to  her,  had  for  some  time  watched 
her,  with  looks  of  satirical  observation.  At  length,  Clementine 
Vermont  exclaimed,  in  a tone  expressive  of  pique , as  well  as  ridi- 
cule, “ Upon  my  word,  Mademoiselle  de  Liancourt,  your  devotion 
is  quite  edifying;  but  I should  feel  obliged  by  your  behaving  a 
little  more  like  other  people,  and  not  disturbing  us  in  our  studies, 
by  your  ostentatious  use  of  the  sign  of  the  cross,  when  there  is  no 
necessity  at  all  for  such  a display.” 

Rose  started  from  her  deep  musing,  and  fixed  her  eyes  on  the 
face  of  the  speaker.  “ No  necessity,  Clementine  ! — I know  not 
how  far  that  assertion  may  be  correct  in  your  case,  but  I assure 
you  that  in  mine  it  is  a great  mistake.  I find  my  own  unassist(H.l 
powers  so  entirely  inadequate  to  the  right  performance  of  my 


SCHOOL  PERSECUTION. 


Ill 


duties,  both  great  and  small,  but  I am  thankful  I have  the 
privilege  of  seeking  help  from  on  high.  Why,  then,  should  you 
call  that  ostentation,  which  our  church  commands  us  to  use  on 
every  occasion  of  difficulty,  or  of  need,  whether  it  arise  from  the 
greater,  or  more  minute  occurrences  of  life  V' 

“ That  is  truly  said,”  observed  Mademoiselle  Laval,  whose  re- 
ligious feelings,  and  natural  candor,  were  thus  called  forth,  by 
Rose’s  appeal  to  the  church.  “ We  ought,  indeed,  to  ask  the  Holy 
Virgin’s  help  in  every  time  of  need,  and  the  church  teaches  that 
the  sign  of  the  cross  is  a most  effectual  remedy  against  all  per- 
plexities. Rose  is  therefore  much  to  be  praised,  for  using  it  to  as- 
sist her  memory ; and  you,  Clementine,  ought  to  imitate,  rather 
than  find  fault  with  her.” 

Clementine  tossed  her  head  in  disdain,  and  muttered  some  ill- 
natured  remark,  about  “pretended  saints,”  and  “hypocrites.” 

Poor  Rose  was  far  from  enjoying  the  satisfaction,  which  the 
teacher’s  rebuke  to  Clementine,  and  approbation  of  her  own  con- 
duct, might  have  seemed  calculated  to  give  her.  She  had  been 
accused  o.f  ostentation  and  hypocrisy — a subject  on  which  she 
was  peculiarly  vulnerable.  She  bent  down  her  head,  in  sorrow- 
ful dejection,  and  her  tears  dropped  on  her  writing.  She  hastily 
finished  her  exercise,  and,  delivering  it  to  Mademoiselle  Laval, 
hurried  out  of  the  school-room. 

In  passing  through  the  salle  a manger , she  encountered  Made- 
moiselle St.  Andre,  who,  observing  her  flushed  cheek  and  swollen 
eyes,  tauntingly  inquired  “what  was  the  matter  with  Saint 
Rose  V*  This  obnoxious  appellation,  so  often  deprecated,  and  so 
unfeelingly  persisted  in,  roused  the  indignation  of  its  object  to  the 
highest  pitch  ; and  a very  warm  altercation  ensued,  in  which  both 
teacher  and  scholar  forgot  their  relative  situations.  In  the  midst 
of  passionate  remonstrances  on  the  one  hand,  and  provoking  re- 
proaches on  the  other,  Emily  entered  from  the  school-room,  and, 
making  an  apology  to  Mademoiselle  St.  Andre,  drew  away  Rose 
to  her  own  apartment.  Here  the  poor  girl  gave  way  to  the  vio 
fence  of  her  over-wrought  feelings,  in  a paroxysm  of  tears  and 
sobs.  Emily  embraced,  and  gently  strove  to  soothe  her ; but  in 
this  she  could  not  succeed,  till  the  agony  of  her  mind,  having  ex- 
hausted  herself,  gave  place  to  the  paleness  and  langour  of  dejection. 
Seeing  her,  at  length,  restored  to  some  degree  of  composure,  Emily 
seized  the  opportunity  of  representing  to  her,  how  much  she  had 
transgressed  against  her  duty,  both  as  a scholar  and  a Christian, 
in  allowing  her  passions  thus  to  obtain  the  mastery  over  her  prin- 
ciples, and  affectionately  urged  the  necessity  of  her  making  a 
proper  submission  to  Mademoiselle  St.  Andre. 

Rose  immediately  acknowledged  her  fault,  and  consented  to 
make  the  utmost  reparation  in  her  power ; she  sought  not  to  pal- 
liate her  misconduct,  but,  after  having  recourse  to  her  usual  invo- 


112 


SCHOOL  PERSECUTION. 


cation — the  sign  of  the  cross — went  in  search  of  the  offended  teach- 
er, and  humbly  requested  her  forgiveness. 

The  same  evening,  after  supper,  the  whole  school  were  allowed 
to  walk  in  the  garden,  and  amuse  themselves  in  whatever  way 
was  most  congenial  to  their  inclinations.  The  scene  was  rich  in 
moonlight  beauty,  and  the  air  of  soft  repose  that  pervaded  every 
object,  joined  to  the  lavish  perfumes  of  spring,  and  the  tender 
melody  of  the  nightingale,  seemed  to  shed  a kind  of  enchantment 
over  the  whole  landscape.  Some  of  the  young  ladies  retired  to 
the  different  bosquets  scattered  through  the  garden,  to  enjoy  the 
society  and  conversation  of  their  friends  : but  they  were  recalled 
by  Madame  d’Elfort,  who  insisted  that  they  should  either  dance 
or  walk,  in  order  to  prevent  their  taking  cold.  The  greater  num- 
ber, therefore,  engaged  in  an  animated  and  noisy  ronde , in  the  open 
central  space,  which  was  surrounded,  and  almost  over-arched, 
by  the  thick  foliage  of  clustering  limes.  A few,  however,  pre- 
ferred the  quiet  enjoyment  of  a ramble,  and  among  this  number 
were  Emily  and  Rose,  who,  having  sought  each  other  out,  struck 
into  the  most  retired  walk,  and  gladly  left  behind  the  merriment 
of  the  giddy  group. 

“ I have  made  my  humble  apology  to  Mademoiselle  St.  Andre,” 
said  Rose,  as,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  Emily,  she  entered  a narrow 
embowered  path,  fragrant  with  roses  and  mignonette,  “ and  now 
let  me  entreat  your  pardon,  my  dearest,  best  friend,  for  the  trouble 
and  vexation  I have  given  you  by  my  violence.  Oh ! if  you  knew 
what  conflicts,  what  misery  I often  endure,  from  my  unsubdued 
feelings,  you  would  indeed  pity  me  ! But  you  cannot  form  an 
adequate  idea  of  my  difficulties,  for  your  own  disposition  is  so 
gentle,  so  calm,  that  you  can  seldom  be  in  danger  of  losing  the 
equanimity  of  so  well  regulated  a mind.55 

“ Alas  ! my  dear  Rose,  you  greatly  mistake  the  matter.  Few 
persons,  I think,  have  stronger  passions  than  myself,  or  more  need 
of  watchfulness,  to  keep  them  within  the  bounds  of  Christian 
obedience.  But  the  grace  of  God  is  all-sufficient,  and  if  we  im- 
plore the  mighty  influences  of  his  Holy  Spirit,  we  shall  find  ‘ his 
strength  made  perfect  in  our  weakness.’  ” 

“ I bless  God  that  it  is  so,”  replied  Rose,  devoutly  crossing  her- 
self,— “ O yes!  I can  bear  testimony  to  the  truth  of  your  observa- 
tion. I am  a poor,  weak,  helpless  creature,  and  should  be  con- 
tinually falling  into  sin,  did  not  the  blessed  Virgin  assist  me  : but. 
alas  ! I am  sadly  deficient  in  watchfulness  over  my  own  heart. 
Accept  my  most  fervent  gratitude,  for  your  kind  interference  this 
morning,  and,  if  it  is  not  presuming  too  much  on  your  friendship, 
allow  me  to  entreat,  dearest  Miss  Mortimer,  that  you  will  still  take 
the  trouble  to  watch  over  and  reprove  me.  I shall  also  beg  of  my 
confessor  to  enjoin  me  a very  severe  penance  for  this  day’s  fault.” 

“ I wish,  Rose,  you  would  look  more  simply  to  God,”  said  Emily 


SCHOOL  PERSECUTION. 


113 


with  a deep  sigh  of  vexation,  at  the  singular  mixtirt  of  truth  and 
error  in  her  friend’s  ideas ; but,  instantly  remembering  the  danger- 
ous ground  shawas  treading  on,  she  checked  herself,  and  inquired 
what  circumstance  it  was,  which  had  so  painfully  ruffled  her 
temper  in  the  morning. 

“ The  old  subject  of  contention,  that  distressing  appellation 
which  my  tormentors  know  so  well  I cannot  endure.  I am  fully 
aware,  indeed,  that  it  is  only  bestowed  upon  me  in  scorn;  yet  I 
feel  that  its  application  to  such  a creature  as  myself  is  both  shock- 
ing and  profane  ; and  the  idea  of  that  name,  and  the  sacred  cause 
of  religion,  being  thus  dishonored  by  my  faults,  is  what  pierces  my 
heart  with  the  most  insufferable  anguish.” 

“ I feel  very  sincerely  for  your  distress,  dearest  Rose ; but,  if 
we  would  be  Christians,  we  must  expect  to  be  reviled,  even  as 
our  adorable  Saviour  was  : and  He  has  pronounced  those  ‘blessed,’ 
who  are  thus  persecuted  for  his  sake.” 

“ Oh  yes  ! but  lam  not  worthy  of  such  an  honor,”  exclaimed 
Rose,  clasping  her  hands,  and  raising  her  meek  and  tearful  eyes 
to  heaven.  “ Oh  ! if  you  knew  me,  Emily!  if  you  did  but  know 
what  a sinful  creature  I am,  you  would  feel  as  much  shocked  at 
the  profanation  as  I do  ! Let  them  call  me  hypocrite,  or  any  other 
vile  name,  as  often  as  they  please, — let  them  abase  my  self-love, 
or  wound  my  feelings,  and  I shall  strive  to  bear  it  patiently,  as  a 
salutary  penance : but  never,  oh ! never  let  them  dishonor  the 
sacred  name  of  saint , by  coupling  it  with  mine  !” 

They  had  now  reached  a small  secluded  seat,  at  the  end  of  the 
walk,  and  the  beauty  and  tranquillity  of  the  scene  tempted  Emily 
to  sit  down.  Rose  leant  against  the  hedge  of  rose  bushes,  and 
sobbed  with  irrepressible  emotion.  Emily  pressed  her  hand,  but, 
though  her  tears  dropped  on  it,  in  silent  sympathy,  her  heart  was 
too  full  for  utterance.  The  youthful  mourner  at  length  threw  her- 
self into  her  arms,  and  it  was  long  ere  she  could  regain  her  wonted 
calmness. 

“ You . are  the  only  person  in  this  house,”  said  she  at  length, 
“ who  seems  to  understand  my  feelings,  and  I thank  the  blessed 
Virgin  every  day,  for  having  given  me  such  a friend  ; and  yet,  be- 
cause you  are  not  a Catholic,  I have  been  compelled  to  maintain 
the  most  unpleasant  reserve  towards  you.  But  I will  do  so  no 
longer  ; I will  confide  my  sorrows  to  your  kind  and  compassionate 
bosom,  and  entreat  from  you  that  counsel  and  assistance  which  I 
so  often  need.  Your  faithful  admonitions  have  this  day  confirmed 
my  dependence  on  your  friendship,  and  I will  converse  freely  with 
you,  on  every  subject  but  the  forbidden  one  of  religion.  Would 
that  I could  throw  away  all  reserve  on  that  also !” 

Emily  had  not  sought  this  confidence  from  her  friend ; yet  she 
certainly  felt  desirous  of  knowing  more  of  her  situation.  It  was 
evidently  a painful  one,  and  a nobler  feeling  than  curiosity  induced 

JQ* 


114 


SCHOOL  PERSECUTION. 


her  to  hope  that  she  might  be  the  means  of  administering  com- 
fort, at  least,  if  not  advice  or  assistance.  It  was,  therefore,  with 
no  common  interest,  that  she  listened  to  Rose’s  narrative. 

“ You  are  no  doubt  aware,  my  dearest  Emily,  from  the  gossip  of 
the  school,  that  my  poor  father’s  conduct  has  caused  his  family 
much  grief  and  trouble.  He  is  a man  of  strong  feelings,  and  dread- 
fully violent  passions  ; but  he  certainly  was,  during  my  childhood, 
a kind  husband,  and  a most  affectionate  father.  Indeed,  he  is  still 
very  fond  of  his  children  ; but,  alas  ! his  character  and  conduct  are 
sadly  altered.  He  commanded  a large  frigate  during  the  late  war; 
it  was  taken  by  your  countrymen,  and  my  father,  after  being  dan- 
gerously wounded  in  the  engagement,  was  carried  to  London, 
where  he  remained  several  years.  There  he  met  with  much 
kindness  and  honorable  treatment,  but,  unhappily,  fell  into  com- 
pany of  a very  wicked  and  dissolute  kind, — principally,  I am 
ashamed  to  say,  among  the  French  officers  who  were,  like  him- 
self, prisoners  of  war.  There  my  poor  father  entered  into  all 
those  pursuits,  which  have  since  proved  his  own  misery,  and  the 
ruin  of  his  family.” 

Here  Rose  paused  for  a moment,  and  gave  way  to  tears  of  bitter 
recollection.  Emily  entreated  her  to  spare  herself  any  further 
communication,  on  a subject  which  caused  her  so  much  painful 
emotion,  and  reminded  her  that  Madame  d’Elfort  had  forbidden 
them  to  sit  down.  She  immediately  rose,  and'  they  resumed  their 
walk ; but  she  would  not  suspend  a narration  which  she  had  long 
been  anxious  to  enter  upon. 

“ My  dear  mother  heard  from  him  occasionally,  during  his  cap- 
tivity, and,  as  his  fortune  was  not  large,  she  cheerfully  sacrificed 
her  own,  to  answer  his  repeated  and  enormous  demands  for  money. 
She  could  not,  however,  resist  the  painful  conviction,  that  he  must 
have  plunged  very  deeply  into  the  fatal  vice  of  gaming,  and  she 
languished  for  his  return,  in  the  hope  that  the  claims  of  duty,  and 
the  voice  of  affection,  could  not  fail  to  recall  him  to  the  path  of 
rectitude  and  peace.  I was  very  young  then,  but  well  do  I re- 
member my  beloved  mother’s  anxiety,  her  tears,  her  constant 
prayers,  her  impassioned  longing  for  peace ; and  though  I could 
not  then  share  her  confidence,  my  heart  already  sympathized 
deeply  in  her  uneasiness.  At  last  the  long  desired,  long  prayed 
for  moment,  arrived  ; the  ravages  of  war  ceased,  and  peace  extend- 
ed her  olive  branch  over  the  nations  of  Europe.  After  another 
interval  of  heart-sickening  suspense,  a large  remittance  enabled 
my  father  to  leave  England,  and  my  dear  mother  had  at  last  the 
unspeakable  happiness  of  throwing  herself  on  the  bosom  of  her 
long  lost  husband. 

“ But,  oh  ! what  a sad,  what  a fearful  change  did  she  soon  per- 
ceive in  him  ! After  the  first  emotions  of  pleasure,  on  returning  to 
his  country  and  friends,  had  subsided,  my  father  no  longer  appeared 


SCHOOL  PERSECUTION. 


115 


to  take  any  interest  in  the  enjoyments  of  home,  the  society  of  his 
wife,  or  the  education  of  his  children.  His  hours  were  chiefly 
spent  in  the  most  dissipated  and  dangerous  company,  and,  when 
he  returned,  the  irritation  caused  by  his  losses  at  play,  rendered 
his  naturally  kind  disposition  harsh  and  gloomy.  My  mother 
wept  in  secret,  at  this  final  blighting  of  her  happiness,  while  she 
forced  her  countenance  to  wear,  before  him,  the  smile  of  unaltered 
cheerfulness  and  affection.  But  her  health,  naturally  delicate, 
and  long  undermined  by  anxiety,  gradually  sunk  under  these  re- 
doubled trials  ; she  pined  in  silent  anguish,  and  drooped  like  a lily 
broken  by  the  tempest. 

“ It  was  then  that  her  kind  confessor,  the  excellent  cure,  of  this 
town,  considered  it  his  duty  to  remonstrate  with  my  father.  He 
had  anxiously  observed  his  conduct,  and  knew  more,  far  more  of 
his  pursuits,  than  we  did.  He  took  the  first  opportunity  of  reason- 
ing mildly  with  him,  and  seriously  representing  the  injury  he  was 
doing,  both  to  himself  and  his  family.  My  father  was  affected, 
and,  to  deepen  the  impression  made  on  his  heart,  Monsieur  de 
Beauvais  pressed  on  his  attention  the  most  solemn  and  important 
truths  of  religion.  Alas ! he  then  discovered,  what  before  he  had 
only  feared — that  infidelity  had  taken  the  most  fatal  possession  of 
his  mind,  and  thus  sapped  the  foundation  of  every  moral  princi- 
ple. Shocked  at  this  discovery,  he  confided  it  to  my  uncle  de 
Longueville,  my  mother’s  only  brother,  and  entreated  his  assist- 
ance in  reclaiming  the  wanderer.  But  in  vain  did  they  use  every 
method  that  affection  could  suggest ; my  poor  father  spurned  the 
counsel  of  the  venerable  minister,  and  called  it  the  insolent  med- 
dling of  priest-craft ; while  he  so  highly  resented  the  interference 
of  my  uncle,  that  a quarrel  ensued  between  them,  and  ended  in  a 
duel,  which  had  nearly  proved  fatal  to  them  both. 

<l  This  was  the  death-blow  to  my  dear  suffering  mother’s  intel- 
lects. The  terror  and  anguish  she  experienced,  on  that  dreadful 
occasion,  were  too  much  both  for  body  and  mind.  A brain  fever,  of 
the  most  alarming  kind,  made  us  despiiir  of  her  life  ; and,  when 
health  again  dawned  on  the  body,  reason  had  forsaken  her  throne, 
for  ever !” 

Here  Rose  pressed  her  hand  on  her  heart,  as  if  to  repress  a 
strong  feeling  of  anguish  ; but,  unmindful  of  Emily’s  entreaties, 
she  persisted  in  finishing  the  narrative. 

“ I need  not  tell  you,  my  dear  friend,  that  the  gloom  of  sorrow 
has  rested  on  my  mind  ever  since.  My  father,  indeed,  displayed 
much  tenderness  and  remorse  for  a few  weeks,  and  nothing  could 
exceed  the  attention  and  care  he  bestowed  on  his  broken-hearted 
wife,  while  procuring  for  her  every  little  comfort  or  enjoyment 
which  her  melancholy  situation  was  capable  of.  But  the  salutary- 
impression  soon  faded  from  his  mind  ; and,  while  her  mourning 
family  were  anxiously  watching  the  steps,  looks,  and  actions  of 


116 


SCHOOL  PERSECUTION. 


the  interesting  sufferer,  in  the  faint,  but  fondly  cherished  hope, 
that  some  heavenly  ray  would  still  burst  through  the  gloom  of 
mental  aberration,  the  woman  who  had  been  hired  to  attend  upon 
her,  and  whose  pleasing  manners  had  very  much  prepossessed  us 
in  her  favor,  contrived  so  completely  to  engage  my  father’s  affec- 
tions, as  to  obtain  the  most  unbounded  ascendency  over  him. 
This  was  soon  perceived,  by  her  becoming  the  despot  of  the 
family.  All  our  old  servants  left  the  house,  and  their  places  were 
immediately  filled  by  others  of  her  own  choosing.  It  was  in  vain 
to  remonstrate  with  my  father,  for  her  influence  over  him  was 
every  day  increased,  by  her  ostentatious  kindness  to  my  mother, 
and  the  apparent  interest  she  took  in  the  welfare  of  my  sister  and 
myself.  I need  not  tell  you  that  I was  wretched,  and  that  my 
only  solace  lay  in  attending  to  my  suffering  parent,  and  in  feebly 
endeavoring  to  supply  her  place  to  my  poor  little  sister. 

‘ I know  not  if  Madame  Gerard  was  fearful  that  the  feelings 
of  parental  affection,  which  my  father  still  manifested  for  us, 
might  at  length  prove  inimical  to  her  interest ; but  she  per- 
suaded him,  four  years  ago,  to  send  me  to  school.  I left  home 
with  the  most  poignant  anguish,  for  I dreaded  that  cruel  treatment 
would  in  private  be  inflicted  on  my  mother  ; but  1 durst  not  re- 
monstrate, though  my  heart  was  ready  to  burst.  I,  however,  ob 
tained  leave  to  visit  her  every  week,  and  my  fears  were  at  length 
somewhat  allayed,  by  observing  that  Madame  Gerard’s  conduct 
to  the  dear  invalid  remained,  to  all  appearance,  unchanged.  In- 
deed, she  must  have  been  a monster  of  inhumanity,  if  she  could 
have  treated  her  harshly ; for  the  poor  sufferer  is  as  gentle  as  a 
lamb,  and  as  passively  obedient  as  an  infant.  She  seems  to  have 
an  instinctive  dread  of  her  guardian  ; but,  though  I questioned 
Claire  closely  and  frequently,  I could  never  discover  that  she  had 
been  otherwise  than  kindly  treated. 

“ My  mother’s  friends,  however,  as  well  as  myself,  foresaw  the 
most  baneful  consequences  to  my  sister,  from  her  remaining  under 
such  tuition,  and  subject  to  such  an  example  ; and,  after  many  in- 
effectual attempts,  nor  united  entreaties  at  length  prevailed  on  my 
father  to  send  her  to  Madame  d’Elfort.  She  has  now  been  here 
about  two  years,  and,  although  she  had  already  contracted  many 
bad  habits,  and  was  totally  uncultivated,  I thank  God  that  she 
now  bids  fair  to  realize  the  fondest  wishes  of  my  heart.” 

“ Has  your  mother  ever  any  lucid  intervals  1”  inquired  Emily, 
whose  silent  tears  had  testified  her  sympathy,  more  powerfully 
than  words  could  have  done.  “ Hoes  she  know  you,  and  the  other 
members  of  her  family  ?” 

“ Oh ! yes,  very  frequer  tly ; — and  there  are  moments,  when  I 
could  almost  fancy  her  reason  is  returning;  but,  alas  ! some  flash 
of  painful  recollection  then  darts  across  her  mind,  and  all  is  dark 
and  wild  igain.  She  is  never  otherwise  than  gentle ; but  her 


THE  HIDDEN  SNARE. 


117 


deep  and  silent  melancholy  is  truly  heart-rending.  Oh  ! I could 
weep,  till  my  life  departed,  when  she  presses  my  hand  to  her 
heart,  and,  with  an  agonizing  sigh,  tells  me  ‘ her  pain  is  there?  ” 
Another  burst  of  sorrow  closed  tb  3 painful  narrative  of  this  affee* 
tionate  daughter ; and,  before  she  could  recover  the  composure  of 
her  usual  manner,  the  bell  summoned  the  whole  school  to  pray* 
fers  in  the  open  part  of  the  garden. 

“ We  must  go  !”  exclaimed  Rose,  stifling  her  emotion  with  a 
determined  effort,  and  grasping  the  arm  of  Emily.  “ 1 know  not 
When  we  shall  enjoy  another  such  interview ; but  I have  still 
much  to  tell  you,  ana  stand  greatly  in  need  of  your  advice.  I 
shall  seize  the  first  opportunity  that  presents  itself,  if  you  will 
kindly  listen  to  me  again.  In  the  mean  time,  you  will  pray  for 
me  5 — will  you  not 

A silent,  but  expressive,  pressure  of  the  hand  was  Emily’s  only 
answer ; for,  though  they  hurried  towards  the  circle,  they -scarcely 
reached  it  before  the  prayers  were  begun.  The  numerous  groups 
of  young  ladies,  kneeling  round  their  majestic  governess,  and  seen 
by  the  soft  radiance  of  moonlight,  presented  a most  interesting 
spectacle  5 and,  as  Emily  also  bent  her  knees,  under  the  shade  of 
a few  straggling  branches,  she  closed  her  ears  to  the  words  that 
were  uttered,  lest  their  import  should  destroy  the  sweet  illusion 
of  the  scene,  or  prevent  her  thoughts  from  soaring  to  “ the  one 
Mediator  between  God  and  man.’* 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE  HIDDEN  SNARE. 

Beware  ot  false  prophets,  which  come  to  you  in  sheep’s  clothing,  but  inwara* 
ly  they  are  ravening  wolves. — Matt.  vii.  15. 

Lydia  Howard  had  occasionally  been  invited  to  accompany 
her  sister,  in  her  visits  to  the  Dorville  family.  She  had  done  so 
once,  during  the  senseless  gaieties  of  the  Carnival ; but,  although 
her  hosts  were  among  the  strictest  observers  of  religious  decorum, 
and  looked  with  horror  on  masquerades,  and  every  assemblee  that 
bore  the  name  of  6a//,  she  saw  enough  of  dissipation,  in  their  pri- 
vate rkwnions^  a ndpetites  soirees , to  awaken  distaste  in  a mind  which, 
though  it  had  not  yet  submitted  to  the  sanctifying  influence  oftho 


118 


THE  HIDDEN  SNARE. 


gospel,  had,  nevertheless,  acquired  that  elevated  tone  of  sent!  -ml 
and  feeling,  which  cannot  stoop  to  the  grovelling  pleasures  o«  the 
world.  Caroline  had  expressed  herself  equally  dissatisfied  svith 
these  enjoyments,  and  the  two  sisters  had,  therefore,  declined  an- 
other invitation  to  partake  of  the  festivities  of  Easter,  when  the 
poor  deluded  devotees,  rejoicing  to  be  at  length  freed  from  the 
six  weeks’  thraldom  of  Lent  austerities,  gave  a loose  to  the  un- 
bounded effusions  of  their  joy,  and  entered  with  fresh  avidity  into 
the  follies  they  had  so  reluctantly  suspended. 

The  sisters  were  now,  however,  entreated  to  join  the  family 
during  a visit  to  Monsieur  Dorville’s  country-seat.  Madame  d’ 
Elfort  was  to  be  of  the  party,  and  both  Caroline  and  Lydia  gladlv 
accepted  an  invitation  which  promised  to  afford  them  much 
real  and  innocent  pleasure. 

On  their  arrival  at  the  mansion,  which  was  situated  a few 
leagues  from  the  town,  they  were  much  delighted  with  its  beauti 
ful  gardens,  and  the  rural  scenery  that  surrounded  it.  The  only 
person  of  the  party  whom  Lydia  had  never  seen  before,  was  the 
Abb6  de  Ronceval,  a priest,  who  was  Eugene  Dorville’s  tutor,  at 
the  public  seminary  ne  attended.  This  gentleman  was  still 
young,  extremely  well-bred,  and  had  so  little  of  the  priest  in  his 
manners  and  conversation,  as  to  make  himself  perfectly  agreeable 
to  all  parties.  The  first  few  days  of  the  visit  passed  pleasantly 
away ; but  when  their  stay  was  prolonged  beyond  the  Sabbath, 
Lydia  could  not  help  deeply  regretting  this  privation  of  the  pub- 
lic means  of  grace.  She  thought  herself  obliged  by  politeness  to 
accompany  the  family  to  high  mass,  especially  as  her  sister  too 
was  of  the  same  opinion.  But  she  felt  as  if  she  were  not  doing 
quite  right,  and  returned  to  the  house  quite  discontented  with 
herself.  In  the  afternoon,  as  the  church  was  at  some  distance, 
the  family  did  not  go  to  vespers,  but  assembled  in  the  drawing- 
room, to  repeat  a chapelet.  Lydia  was  resolved  to  go  no  farther  in 
compliance,  and  having  seen  her  sister  leave  the  room  some  time 
before,  she  rose  to  join  her  in  their  own  chamber,  whither  she  sup- 
posed her  to  have  retired.  Caroline  was  not  there,  but  not  doubt- 
ing that  she  should  find  her  in  the  gardens,  she  immediately  -went 
in  search  of  her,  taking  in  her  hand  “ Hervey’s  Meditations,”  a 
work  which  she  always  read  with  increased  admiration  and  de- 
light. The  gardens  were  now  clothed  in  all  the  blooming  love- 
liness of  spring,  and  Lydia,  with  the  glowing  enthusiasm  of  a 
lover  of  nature,  went  in  ecstacy  from  one  sweet  spot  to  another, 
and  bent  fondly  over  every  beauteous  object  in  her  path,  till  she 
found  herself  in  a romantic  recess,  in  the  centre  of  which  gushed 
a crystal  fountain,  its  sparkling  waters  reflecting  the  bright  green 
foliage  of  the  trees  that  shaded  its  surface,  while  the  marble  statue 
of  a water-nymph  was  bending  over  its  transparent  bosom.  This 
was  a spot  peculiarly  fitted  for  contemplation ; and,  as  it  command 


THE  HIDDEN  SNARE, 


119 


ed  a view  of  a blooming  wilderness  of  flowers,  Lydia  sat  down  on 
a moss-covered  seat,  and  began  to  peruse  Hervey’s  observations 
on  those  beauteous  objects. 

She  had  remained  some  time  in  this  pleasing  occupation,  when 
she  was  startled  by  the  sound  of  footsteps,  and,  looking  up,  per- 
ceived the  abb6  before  her.  He  had  a book  under  his  arm,  and 
either  was,  or  pretended  to  be,  surprised  at  finding  her  there. 

“ 1 beg  pardon,  mademoiselle,  for  this  intrusion,”  said  he,  polite- 
ly ; “ I fear  I have  disturbed  you.  Pray  resume  your  seat,”  added 
he,  observing  that  Lydia  was  turning  to  leave  the  spot. 

“ Excuse  me,  sir,”  she  replied,  “ I had  not  intended  to  remain 
here  ; but,  beguiled  by  the  beauty  of  the  scene,  and  the  contents  of 
a favorite  book,  I have  allowed  the  time  to  pass  away  unobserved.” 

“ This  is  indeed  a lovely  retreat,”  remarked  the  abbe,  “ and  pe- 
culiarly favorable  both  to  study  and  devotion.  But,  mademoiselle, 
will  you  allow  me  to  ask,  why  you  were  not  present  this  afternoon, 
at  the  repetition  of  the  chapelet  ? ” 

“ I,  sir ! ” exclaimed  Lydia,  with  unaffected  astonishment ; “ Did 
you  expect  to  see  me  there  1 You  must  surely  be  aware  that  I am 
not  a Roman  Catholic.” 

“ Not  a Catholic  ! Impossible  ! but  you  are  a Frenchwoman, 
Mademoiselle ! ” 

“ No,  sir,  I am  not ; and  I feel  truly  surprised  that  my  name  alone 
has  not  informed  you  of  my  origin,  even  if  my  language  and  man- 
ners did  not.” 

Lydia  uttered  this  with  a tone  of  mortified  pride,  for  there  were 
few  things  she  disliked  more,  than  the  idea  of  bearing  any  resem- 
blance to  the  French. 

“ Pardon  me,  Mademoiselle,  I have  perhaps  been  wilfully 
blind;  but  the  wonderful  fluency  and  correctness  with  which 
you  speak  our  language,  and  the  purity  and  elegance  of  your  ac- 
cent, prevented  my  suspecting  that  you  were  other  than  a native 
of  France.  Your  attendance  at  mass,  too,  and  the  sincere  devotion 
so  visible  in  your  manner,  would  have  led  any  one  to  believe ” 

“Then,  sir,  you  were  strangely  mistaken,”  interrupted  Lydia, 
who  was  not  at  all  satisfied  with  her  own  conduct  in  this  very  par- 
ticular, and  justly  feared  that  all  this  flattery  was  intended  to  lead 
to  some  attack  on  her  principles.  She  took  up  her  book,  and  was 
preparing  to  leave  the  grot,  when  the  abbe,  gently  detaining  her, 
inquired,  with  an  air  of  the  most  friendly  interest, 

“ And  is  it  possible,  Mademoiselle,  that  you  will  deliberately  re- 
main in  the  errors  of  Protestantism,  when  you  are  living  in  the 
land  of  true  Christianity,  and  surrounded  by  faithful  Christians 

“ Yes,  sir,”  replied  Lydia  firmly ; for  she  was  resolved,  since  she 
could  not  avoid  the  contest,  to  defend  her  religion  with  undaunted 
courage ; “ I will  most  willingly  remain  in  those  etrorty  as  you  un* 
justly  call  them.” 


120 


THE  HIDDEN  SNARE. 


“ I believe,”  observed  the  priest,  after  a moment’s  pause,  “ that 
you  do  not  even  pray  to  the  holy  Virgin,  or  request  the  interces- 
sion of  the  saints.” 

“ No,  sir,  nor  does  the  Word  of  God  authorize  us  so  to  do.” 

“ The  Bible ! ” exclaimed  the  abbe,  raising  his  hands,  with  a 
peculiar  expression  of  countenance,  as  if  greatly  shocked  by  her 
observation, — “ Oh,  Mademoiselle  ! you  too,  then,  are  in  the  habit 
of  reading  that  book ! ” 

Lydia  felt  confused  by  his  manner,  but  replied,  notwithstanding 
with  unshrinking  firmness — 

“ Most  assuredly,  sir,  I read  it  daily.” 

“ But,  my  dear  child,  since  you  study  the  Bible,  you  must  be 
aware,  that  the  angel  Gabriel  said  to  the  mother  of  God — ‘ Thou 
art  blessed  among  women,’ — and  that  this  appellation  clearly  au 
thorizes  the  reverence  that  is  paid  to  her  by  the  holy  church. 
What  reasonable  objection  can  you  make  to  this  ? ” 

Lydia  paused  a moment  at  this  question,  and  could  not  forbear 
trembling,  at  the  idea  of  her  incompetency  to  answer  so  powerful 
an  opponent.  She  silently  lifted  up  her  heart  in  prayer,  for  divine 
assistance ; then,  suddenly  recollecting  what  she  had  once  read  on 
the  same  subject,  replied  with  animation, 

“ I shall  only  remind  you,  sir,  that  the  very  same  title  was  twice 
applied  to  Jael,  after  she  had  destroyed  Si  sera ; and  yet  your  church, 
I believe,  does  not  think  it  necessary  to  worship  her.” 

The  abbe  started  at  this  observation,  and  appeared  somewhat 
disconcerted.  Lydia  unconsciously  opened  her  book  ; but  resolv- 
ing not  to  remain  altogether  on  the  defensive,  she  again  looked  up, 
end  inquired, — 

“ Pray,  sir,  of  what  use  is  confessing  to  a priest,  as  the  Roman 
Catholics  do  ? ” 

“Confession,  my  dear  young  lady,  is  one  of  those  points  on  which 
the  holy  church  most  strongly  insists.  It  teaches  us  to  humble 
ourselves,  and,  in  a great  measure,  prevents  the  commission  of  sin.” 
“Indeed,  sir ! ” observed  Lydia,  somewhat  archly, — “I  could  never 
have  supposed  so.” 

The  abbe  was  thoughtful  for  a few  minutes,  then  inquired, 
with  an  air  of  great  earnestness, 

“ If,  Mademoiselle,  you  were  assured  that  our  religion  was  the 
only  true  one,  would  you  forsake  yours  to  embrace  it  ? ” 

“ I hope  I should,  sir.” 

“ Strange  ! then  why  do  you  not  return  to  the  true  faith  1 ” 

14  Because,  sir,  I am  far  from  being  convinced  that  yours  is  such.’ 
is  But  if  you  were  so,”  artfully  rejoined  the  priest,  “ it  would  be 
difficult  for  you  to  throw  off  the  shackles  that  surround  you.  Your 
parents  are  Protestants,  and  would  no  doubt  be  highly  displeased 
should  you  manifest  any  desire  to  do  so.” 

“ Perhaps  they  would,  sir;  but  I hope  that  not  even  their  disap 


THE  HIDDEN  SNARE. 


121 


probation  would  prevent  me  from  doing  whatever  conscience 
might  dictate.  However,  I feel  not  the  least  inclination  to  make 
the  trial.” 

“ Perhaps,”  observed  the  abbe,  as  if  musing,  and  without  appear- 
ing to  notice  her  last  expression,  “ perhaps  your  governess  would 
allow  you  to  go  privately  to  confession;  you  might  abstain  from 
eating  meat  on  fast-days ; your  parents  would  know  nothing  of  it ; 
and  when  you  return  home,  you  might  still  occasionally  attend 
the  Catholic  service ; till,  at  the  end  of  your  minority,  you  were 
enabled  openly  to  profess  your  sentiments.” 

He  seemed  waiting  for  an  answer  to  this  insidious  speech  ; but 
Lydia’s  mind  was  too  much  agitated  by  conflicting  feelings,  to 
allow*  of  her  making  one.  Indignation  against  the  priest,  for  the 
perfidious  advantage  he  had  thus  endeavored  to  take  of  her  youth 
and  inexperience  ; shame  and  vexation,  at  being  thus  wilfully  mis- 
understood, and  contempt  for  the  disingenuous  mode  of  proceeding 
he  recommended ; all  strove  for  pre-eminence  in  the  reply  she 
was  meditating,  when  a step  approached  the  grotto,  and  Caroline 
appeared  seeking  her  sister.  She  started,  on  seeing  Monsieur  de 
Ronceval ; but  Lydia  again  raised  her  averted  eyes  to  his  counte- 
nance ; and,  wThile  the  flush  of  resentment  on  her  cheek  plainly 
indicated  what  was  passing  in  her  mind,  she  took  the  arm  of  her 
sister  and  coldly  bowing  to  him,  silently  took  the  path  towards 
the  house. 

Arrived  in  their  own  chamber,  she  imparted  to  Caroline  the  sub- 
stance of  the  conversation  in  the  grotto,  and  openly  avowed  her 
resolution  of  relating  the  whole  to  Madame  d’Elfort. 

“ I am  certain,”  exclaimed  she,  with  her  usual  warmth,  “ that 
she  would  not  approve  of  this  mean  attempt  to  subvert  the  prin- 
ciples of  one  entrusted  to  her  care.” 

Caroline  had  listened  to  the  recital  with  deep  attention,  and  with- 
out making  a single  comment;  but  she  now  advised  her  sister  to 
forego  the  intention  she  had  expressed.  “ It  would  be  foolish,”  she 
observed,  “ to  make  a stir  about  it.  Monsieur  de  Ronceval,  no 
doubt,  has  acted  from  the  best  motives ; though  he  wras  greatly 
mistaken  in  his  opinion  of  you.  Do  not,  my  dear  Lydia,  trouble 
Madame  d’Elfort  about  such  a trifle.” 

Lydia  did  not  feel  quite  satisfied  with  her  sister’s  advice  ; but 
she  at  length  brought  herself  to  believe  that,  as  Caroline’s  judg- 
ment was  superior  to  hers,  it  was  her  duty  to  yield  to  her  opinion. 

They  now  descended,  to  join  the  family  in  the  salon . On  pass- 
ing Madame  Dorville’s  room,  the  door  of  which  was  partly  open, 
Lydia  heard  the  voice  of  Monsieur  de  Ronceval,  pronouncing  her 
name.  She  stopped,  almost  involuntarily,  and  heard  Madame 
Dorville  ask, 

“ And  what  answer  did  she  make  to  this  kind  proposal  of 
yours  Vy 


11 


122 


SUNDAY  TEMPTATIONS. 


<c  We  were  interrupted,”  replied  the  priest,  “ before  I could  as- 
certain her  sentiments ; but  I think  she  is  well-disposed  towards 
the  truth,  though  the  fear  of  her  family  restrains  her.” 

“ We  must  try  again,”  observed  Madame  Dorville  ; and  she  was 

Proceeding  to  make  some  further  remarks  on  the  subject,  when 
.ydia  recollected  herself,  and,  ashamed  of  having  been,  though 
almost  unintentionally,  listening  to  a private  conversation,  glided 
swiftly  down  the  spacious  staircase,  and  soon  found  herself  in  the 
garden. 

“ It  is,  then,  a concerted  plan !”  exclaimed  she,  almost  aloud, 
“ and  I am  the  object  of  this  perfidious  conspiracy ! How  can 
that  wicked  priest  thus  misrepresent  the  truth  ? But  they  shall 
find  that  I am  not  the  foolish  prey  they  seek.  Oh  ! I wish  I could 
return  to  S , immediately ! But,  while  I am  compelled  to  re- 

main here,  I will  avoid  all  private  conversations,  and,  if  they  dare 
to  attack  me  again,  I will  instantly  complain  to  Madame  d’Elfort.” 
Thus  firmly  resolved  on  the  conduct  she  would  pursue,  and  her 
heart  swelling  with  indignant  feelings,  she  returned  to  her  own 
room  : and,  as  the  agitation  of  her  mind  had  produced  a violent 
headache,  she  availed  herself  of  this  circumstance,  to  go  to  bed 
immediately,  and  thus  avoided,  for  that  evening,  returning  to  the 
talon. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


SUNDAY  TEMPTATIONS. 

ffcey  hare  prepared  a net  for  my  steps.  They  have  digged  a pit  before  me.— 
Psalm  lvii.  6. 

The  next  morning  brought  Madame  d’Elfort  a letter,  announcing 
that  her  sister,  having  been  seized  with  sudden  indisposition,  was 
anxious  for  her  return ; and,  with  the  promptitude  of  alarmed 
affection,  she  immediately  prepared  to  leave  the  villa.  She  gave 
Caroline  and  Lydia  permission  to  remain  with  the  Dorvilles,  the 
whole  of  the  time  for  which  they  had  been  invited,  and  the  for- 
mer gladly  availed  herself  of  it,  as  they  were  contemplating  an 
excursion  to  a much-admired  spot  at  some  distance;  but  the  lat- 
ter, terrified  at  the  thought  of  remaining  in  the  midst  of  danger, 
entreated  so  earnestly  that  she  might  be  permitted  to  accompany 


SUNDAY  TEMPTATIONS. 


123 


her  governess,  that  Madame  d’Elfort,  attributing  this  anxiety  to 
affection  for  Madame  d’Arblay,  with  whom  she  knew  Lydia  to  be 
a great  favorite,  kindly  undertook  to  apologize  for  her  hasty  de- 
parture; and,  after  some  remonstrances  from  the  family,  they  left 
the  country  together. 

Lydia  felt  truly  thankful  for  this  providential  escape,  and  still 
more  so,  when  she  found  that  Madame  d’Arblay’s  illness  was  not 
of  a serious  nature.  She  did  not  fail  to  impart  every  circum- 
stance that  had  occurred  to  her  cousin  Emily,  who  commended 
her  for  the  prudence  she  had  shown,  and  approved  of  her  deter- 
mination, never  more  to  expose  herself  to  temptation,  by  any  un- 
necessary intercourse  with  the  Dorvilles. 

Emily,  however,  did  not  communicate  to  Lydia  all  the  painful 
and  uneasy  feelings  which  this  narrative  awakened  in  her  own 
mind.  She  had,  for  some  time,  felt  anxious  on  the  subject  of 
Caroline’s  great  intimacy  with  the  Dorvilles  ; but  now,  a host  of 
vague  and  undefined  apprehensions  took  possession  of  her  mind. 
Fearful,  however,  of  giving 

to  airy  nothings 
A local  habitation,  and  a name. 

she  resolved  to  confine  these  thoughts  to  her  own  bosom,  while, 
at  the  same  time,  she  watched  the  course  of  passing  events,  and 
earnestly  prayed  that  her  fears  might  not  be  realized. 

The  following  Sunday  was  a rainy  day,  and  the  English  girls 
were  deploring  the  necessity  they  were  under,  of  remaining  at 
school  without  enjoying  the  pleasure  of  going  to  chapel : a privi- 
lege which,  from  various  motives,  they  all  prized  very  highly ; 
when  little  Agnes  Beverley,  with  a look  of  great  perplexity,  ap- 
proached Emily,  and  requested  her  advice.  She  had  formed  an 
intimacy  with  Aline  de  Saint-Pierre,  a French  boarder  about  her 
own  age,  and  that  young  lady’s  mother  had  requested  of  Madame 
d’Elfort  to  allow  her  to  spend  that  day  with  her  daughter,  at  their 
chateau , a few  leagues  from  town. 

“ I am  sorry  to  go  on  a Sunday,”  continued  Agnes,  blushing, 
“ but  you  know,  Miss  Mortimer,  I cannot  refuse , since  Madame 
d’Elfort  has  consented ; for  it  would  be  considered  extremely  rude 
to  a family  who  have  been  very  kind  to  me.  Yet  I wish  I could 
get  off  from  the  engagement.  Do  tell  me,  dear  Miss  Mortimer, 
what  I had  better  do  ; or,  perhaps,  you  will  be  kind  enough  to  try 
and  persuade  Madame  d’Elfort  to  furnish  me  with  some  excuse 
for  not  going.  I had  hoped  that,  as  the  day  was  rainy,  I should 
not  be  fetched  ; but  Madame  de  Saint-Pierre’s  carriage  is  at  the 
gate,  and  Aline  is  dressing,  and  will  soon  expect  me.  What  shall 
I do  V ’ 

“ And  do  you  really  wish  not  to  go  ?”  inquired  Emily,  fixing  a 
penetrating  glance  on  the  embarrassed  countenance  of  Agnes. 


SUNDAY  TEMPTATIONS. 


L >* 

u Pffty  Miss  Mortimer,  I like  to  go  to  the  chateau , but  I femeid 
ber  haviwg  been  told  at  home,  that  it  was  wrong  to  visit  on  Sun* 
days  ; and  then,  you  have  said  so  much  to  us,  about  its  being  sin- 
ful  to  profane  the  Sabbath,  that  I don’t  know  what  to  do.” 

“ You  ought,  then,  Agnes,  to  have  told  Madame  d’Elfort  before, 
of  your  unwillingness  to  go.  However,  1 will  speak  to  her  im* 
mediately,  and  see  what  can  be  done.” 

With  this  intention,  she  descended,  though  her  heart  beat  with 
violent  emotion,  at  the  boldness  of  the  step  she  was  taking.  A 
sense  of  duty,  however,  nerved  her  courage,  and,  with  a silent  pe- 
tition for  success  in  this  attempt  to  do  good,  she  accosted  Ma- 
dame d’Elfort,  as  she  was  passing  towards  her  own  room,  and 
requested  a few  moments’  private  conversation. 

“Most  willingly,  my  dear  child,”  replied  that  lady,  kindly  put- 
ting her  arm  round  Emily,  and  drawing  her  into  the  garden. 

Emily  timidly  preferred  her  request,  and  represented  the  incon- 
sistency of  Protestant  children’s  spending  the  Sabbath  in  a man- 
ner which  totally  precluded  all  attention  to  religious  duties. 

Madame  d’Elfort’s  manner  immediately  changed,  and  a flush  of 
displeasure  overspread  her  countenance  ; she  withdrew  her  arm 
from  Emily’s  waist,  and  replied,  with  some  asperity, — 

“ You  are  strangely  particular.  Mademoiselle  Mortimer; — much 
more,  I am  sure,  than  your  religion  requires.  Miss  Beverley’s 
engagement  cannot  be  broken, without  offending  Madame  de  Saint- 
Pierre  ; and,  besides,  I do  not  like  to  let  young  people  dictate.” 
Emily’s  courage  failed  beneath  her  frown,  and,  overcome  by 
agitation,  the  tears  started  to  her  eyes. 

Madame  d’Elfort’s  anger  was  immediately  softened ; she  em- 
braced her  pupil,  and  said,  in  a soothing  voice, — 

“ Do  not  distress  yourself,  my  little  Emily ; I cannot  grant 
your  request  in  this  instance  ; out,  rather  than  it  shall  cost  you 
one  single  tear,  I promise  you  that  I will  henceforth  refuse  all 
similar  invitations  for  my  English  pupils.  Now,  are  you  satisfied 
with  this  proof  of  my  affection  ?” 

Emily  warmly  thanked  her  'or  her  kindness,  and  then,  return- 
ing to  Agnes,  requested  her  to  take  her  Bible  with  her,  and  en- 
deavor to  seize  a few  moments  in  the  day  for  perusing  it. 

The  child  departed,  not  without  some  feelings  of  self-accusa 
tion,  which  Emily  hoped  might  prove  salutary  in  their  effects 
and  the  English  boarders  soon  after  retired  to  the  school-room,  to 
read  the  morning  prayers  and  a sermon.  Again  they  assembled 
in  the  afternoon,  and  read  and  conversed  on  the  sixth  chapter  of 
the  epistle  to  the  Romans.  This  striking  portion  of  Scripture 
called  forth  various  questions  and  remarks,  and  Lydia,  in  particular, 
dwelt  with  anxious  interest  on  the  expression,  “ dead  unto  sin.” 

“ How  is  it  possible,  Emily,  that  any  one  can  become  ‘ dead  to 
»in ’ in  this  life?  You  say  that  the  holiest  Christians  fi®*1 


SUNDAY  TEMPTATIONS.  125 

to  their  latest  moment,  the  power  and  burden  of  sin.  How, 
then  am  I to  understand  this  most  perplexing  declaration  V1 

“ I am  but  a poor  theologian,  dearest  Lydia,  and,  therefore,  can 
not  pretend  to  resolve  all  your  difficulties.  But,  observe  the  other 
passages  of  Scripture  on  the  same  subject,  and  perhaps  you  will 
find  that  they  throw  great  light  upon  it.  St.  Paul  explains  it,  in  the 
sixth  verse,  by  saying,  that  ‘ our  old  man  is  crucified  with  Christ, 
that  the  body  of  sin  might  be  destroyed,  that  henceforth  we  should 
not  serve  sin  ;’ — in  the  12th,  that  sin  must  not ‘ reign  in  our  mortal 
bodies,  that  we  should  obey  it  in  the  lusts  thereof ;’ — and  Gcd  promis- 
es, in  the  14th,  that,  if  we  thus  strive  against  sin,  through  the  influ- 
ence of  his  Holy  Spirit,  it  ‘shall  not  have  dominion  over  us,’ and  in 
Micah,  7th  chapter,  19th  verse,  that  ‘ He  will  subdue  our  iniquities.’  ’* 

“ Yet  still  1 do  not,  ccvmot  comprehend  it : it  is  a perfect  mys- 
tery to  me.” 

“ The  only  way,  my  love,  to  understand  that  mystery  savingly , is 
to  implore  the  promised  teaching  of  the  Holy  Spirit ; and  then  ex- 
perience will  make  it  plain  to  you.” 

“ Well,  I would  give  the  world,  if  I had  it,  to  know  as  much  of  it 
as  you,  and  Louisa,  and  Caroline,  do ; but  I fear  it  will  never  be 
my  case.” 

The  blush  of  self-accusation  suffused  the  cheek  of  Louisa,  at 
this  allusion  to  herself ; but  Caroline  turned  pale  with  indefinable 
emotion.  Emily  only  answered  Lydia’s  observation  with  a sor- 
rowful smile,  accompanied  by  a look  of  tender  reproof;  and  the 
youthful  inquirer  herself  turned  away,  with  a deep-drawn  sigh,  to 
avoid  the  piercing  scrutiny  of  that  glance. 

The  little  afternoon-service  was  then  concluded,  by  singing  a 
hymn,  and,  the  French  boarders  being  now  returned  from  ves- 
pers, the  whole  family  were  summoned  to  the  garden.  Caroline 
and  Emily  employed  themselves  in  reading  together,  but  had  not 
long  been  so  engaged,  when  Lydia  ran  hurriedly  into  the  room. 

“ Caroline ! Emily ! do  come  down,  I beseech  you  ! The 
French  and  ourselves  have  had  such  a contest ! They  have  tried 
to  entice  the  little  Bartons  to  buy  fruit  and  cakes,  and  we  have 
been  using  all  our  rhetoric  to  prevent  them.  We  have  got  Lucy 
away  from  them  at  last,  and  Helen  and  Louisa  are  keeping  guard 
over  her;  but  Charlotte  has  fallen  into  the  clutches  of  Miss  St. 
Andre,  and  she,  and  that  malicious  Clementine  Vermont,  are  try- 
ing all  their  arts  to  make  her  forget  her  duty  and  her  promises. 
We  dare  not  approach  her,  for  fear  of  exciting  the  teacher’s  an- 
ger ; but  you  are  persons  of  more  consequence,  and  may  rescue 
the  poor  child  from  temptation  ; — so  do,  pray,  come,  and  foil  the 
machinations  of  our  enemies.” 

The  two  friends  immediately  descended,  and  were  soon  sur- 
rounded by  the  majority  of  the  English.  “ Oh  ! do,  dear  Miss 
Mortimer.”  exclaimed  several  voices,  “ do  disappoint  Mademoi- 

11* 


126 


STJNDAY  TEMPTATIONS. 


selle  St.  Andre  and  her  coadjutors!  They  hope  to  obtain  a tri- 
umph over  our  country  and  our  religion,  by  tempting  poor  little 
Charlotte  to  abandon  her  principles,  but  we  trust  their  machina 
tions  will  redound  to  their  shame.” 

Emily  saw  that  the  spirit  of  national  religion  was  strongly 
aroused  on  this  occasion  ; and,  though  the  motives  of  many  of 
these  young  champions  of  their  country  and  faith  were  evidently 
defective,  yet  she  remembered  the  time,  when  they  were  not  only 
perfectly  indifferent  on  that  very  subject,  but  generally  conformed 
to  the  sinful  practice  they  now  reprobated ; and  she,  therefore,  felt 
thankful  for  the  improvement  which  had  thus  taken  place. 

Charlotte  and  Lucy  Earton  were  two  little  girls  of  nine  and  ten 
years  old,  whose  tender  age  left  them  peculiarly  exposed  to  the 
temptations  that  surrounded  them.  They  had  lately  become  a 
sort  of  rallying  point,  towards  which  the  forces  of  both  parties 
Beemed  to  direct  their  utmost  efforts.  The  French  took  advan- 
tage of  the  proud  spirit,  love  of  independence,  and  self-conceit  of 
Charlotte,  who  was  remarkably  pretty,  to  flatter  her  vanity,  and 
stimulate  her  to  follow  her  own  inclinations  ; while  the  excessive 
mildness,  and  quiet,  yielding  disposition  of  little  Lucy,  promised 
them  an  easy  conquest. 

Charlotte  was  standing  by  Mademoiselle  St.  Andre,  who  was 
speaking  earnestly  to  her,  when  Emily  approached.  A flush  of 
anger  overspread  the  teacher’s  face,  at  this  unwelcome  intrusion, 
and  the  scornful  curl  of  her  lip  was  imitated  by  two  or  three  of  her 
favorites  near  her ; but  the  presence  of  Emily  acted  like  a spell  on 
the  half-yielding  Charlotte.  She  looked  ashamed  and  mortified,  and 
did  not  move  towards  the  fruit-woman’s  stall ; and  Mademoiselle 
St.  Andre  durst  not  continue  her  solicitations,  as  Madame  d’El- 
fort  had  expressly  commanded  that  the  English  should  be  left  en- 
tirely to  their  own  free  choice,  and  had  forbidden  that  any  at- 
tempts should  be  made,  either  to  persuade  or  entice  them.  Emily 
bowed  respectfully  to  the  teacher,  and  then  seated  herself  under  a 
tree  opposite  ; Mademoiselle  St.  Andre  continued  talking,  in  an 
under-tone,  to  her  companions,  alternately  regarding,  with  looks 
of  suppressed  rage,  her  undaunted  opponent,  and  the  shame-struck 
Charlotte,  who  had  taken  up  a book,  and  was  apparen  tly  engaged 
in  learning  a lesson.  Thus  the  two  champions  reman* ed  for  some 
time,  attentively  watching  the  object  of  their  solicitude,  till  the 
teacher,  observing  that  the  fruit-woman  was  gone,  and  her  at- 
tempts foiled  for  that  day  at  least,  cast  on  her  rival  a look  of  re- 
vengeful malice,  and  haughtily  retired  with  her  train  ( f favorites. 

They  had  hardly  left  the  bower,  when  several  Engliih  girls  en- 
tered, leading  in  the  docile  Lucy,  whom  they  had  suto.sded  in 
Keeping  out  of  the  way  of  temptation.  They  presen  Vd  her  'as 
an  example  to  her  sister,  and  warmly  asked  the  latt*r/‘if 
would  disgrace  her  country  and  religion,  by  yielding  ic  \ fc 


THE  MISSIONARY  ASSOCIATION. 


127 


customs  '?”  Charlotte  was  evidently  vexed,  and  attempted  to  de- 
fend herself  from  the  charge ; but  Emily  approached,  and  put  an 
end  to  the  discussion. 

11  My  dear  friends,”  said  she,  mildly,  “ let  Charlotte  follow  the 
dictates  :f  her  own  conscience.  No  one  has  a right  to  control 
her  i-.  Vms  respect,  nor  would  a constrained  obedience  be  accepta- 
ble % God.  She  knows  what  his  Word  says,  about  keeping  the 
Sabbath  holy,  and  I hope  she  will  pray  for  grace,  to  enable  her 
to  walk  in  the  path  of  duty.  Only  remember,  my  love,”  conti- 
nued she,  kissing  the  glowing  cheek  of  Charlotte,  “ that  the  ser- 
vant who  knew  his  Lord’s  will,  and  did  it  not,  was  beaten  with 
many  stripes.” 

The  little  group  then  dispersed,  and  Emily  returned  to  her 
quiet  room. 


CHAPTER  XIX 


THE  MISSIONARY  ASSOCIATION. 

If  there  be  first  a willing  mind,  it  is  accepted,  according  to  that  a man  hath, 
and  not  according  to  that  he  hath  not. — 2 Cor.  viii.  12. 

The  next  Sabbath  was  a day  of  peculiar  interest.  When  the  Pro- 
testants assembled  together,  for  afternoon  service,  they  reminded 
Emily  that  it  was  the  first  Sunday  in  the  month,  when  they  were 
accustomed  to  have  a missionary  prayer,  added  to  their  simple  form 
of  worship.  This  beautiful  and  scriptural  petition  was  according- 
ly read,  and  the  greater  number  appeared  to  join  in  it  with  earnest- 
ness and  sincerity.  When  the  others  had  retired,  Lydia  complained 
of  a headache,  and  expressed  an  anxious  wish  to  spend  the  remain- 
der of  the  afternoon  with  her  cousin  and  sister.  “ Oh ! if  I could 
get  away,”  exclaimed  she,  “ from  that  stupid  garden  recreation,  as 
it  is  called,  how  happy  should  I be,  and  how  comfortably  should 
I spend  the  time ! especially  as  I have  something  to  consult  you 
about,  which  I consider  to  be  of  very  great  importance.” 

“ I will  go  down,”  said  Emily,  “ and  try  if  I cannot  obtain 
leave  of  absence  for  you.” 

“ Oh,  do  ! do ! there’s  a dear,  good  creature  ! But  stay ! per- 
haps you  had  better  not.  That  ill-natured  Miss  St.  Andre  will 
only  take  pleasure  in  refusing  you,  and,  perhaps,  get  us  a repri- 
mand from  Madame  d’Elfort." 


123 


THE  MISSIONARY  ASSOCIATION. 


“ I shall  not  ask  Mademoiselle  St.  Andre,”  replied  Emil}, 
who  was  fully  sensible  of  the  ill-will  that  lady  had  repeatedly 
displayed  towards  her.  “ I shall  seek  Madame  d’Elfort  herself, 
and  from  her  kindness  I do  not  despair  of  obtaining  my  request.” 

“ Oh,  will  you,  indeed,  dare  to  encounter  her  terrible  ladyship  ? 
Then,  dear  Emily,  be  sure  you  make  me  some  signal,  as  soon 
as  you  enter  the  house,  if  you  have  succeeded  5 for  I shall  be  on 
thorns  till  I know  the  result.” 

Emily  laughingly  promised  compliance,  and  departed,  in  search 
of  Madame  d’Elfort.  She,  however,  could  not  find  her,  but 
meeting  Madame  d’Arblay,  she  preferred  her  request  to  that 
indulgent  lady,  and  had  the  satisfaction  of  having  it  immediately 
complied  with.  She  hastened  back  to  her  own  room,  joyfully 
clapping  her  hands,  to  apprise  Lydia  of  her  success. 

“ Now  then,”  exclaimed  the  latter,  throwing  herself  on  a 
favorite  seat  of  hers,  near  the  window,  “ I shall  be  quite  at  home. 
But  I must  tell  you  of  something  that  has  engrossed  my  mind, 
the  greater  part  of  the  day.  We  have  prayed  this  afternoon  for 
the  heathen,  and  for  all  those  who  know  not  the  gospel ; and 
we  every  day  ask  of  God,  that  ‘ his  kingdom  may  come.’  But 
is  it  not  very  much  like  hypocrisy,  to  use  these  prayers,  while 
we  take  no  pains  to  promote  the  cause  we  thus  plead  for '?” 

“ I have  often  had  the  same  thoughts,  my  dear  Lydia,  and 
often  wished  that  something  could  be  done  here,  in  aid  of  the 
Missionary  cause ; but,  alas ! I feel  that,  situated  as  we  are,  it  is 
quite  impossible.” 

“ It  is  true,  we  are  in  a land  of  darkness,  and  surrounded  by 
everything  that  is  hostile  to  true  religion  ; yet,  still,  I think  we 
might  do  a little,  and  if  it  were  but  very  little  indeed , I hope  that 
He  who  condescended  to  accept  the  widow's  mite,  would  not 
disdain  our  feeble  offerings.” 

“ No,  my  love,  he  certainly  would  not ; what,  then,  would  you 
propose  to  do  V' 

“ I was  thinking  that,  isolated  as  we  are,  we  might  form  a 
little  Missionary  Society  among  ourselves,  since  there  is  none 
among  the  English  in  the  town.  If  you  will  consent  to  my 
plan,  we  can  speak  to  the  other  English  girls.  I think  the 
greater  number  will  join  with  us,  in  contributing  a weekly  trifle  ; 
and  the  ocean,  you  know,  is  supplied  by  a multitude  of  small 
streams.  There  is,  at  least,  our  own  little  party  of  friends,  that 
we  can  depend  upon  5 and  there  are  besides,  Elizabeth  and  Ma- 
tilda Danvers,  and  Rose,  Henrietta,  and  Matilda  Maxwell,  who, 
I am  sure,  will  not  refuse  to  contribute.” 

“But  the  French,”  observed  Caroline,  timidly,  “how  would 
they  regard  such  a proceeding  ? and  what  would  Madame  d’El- 
fort say  to  it'?” 

“ Oh.  the  horrid  French!”  exclaimed  Lydia,  in  a 1<me  of  im- 


THE  MISSIONARY  ASSOCIATION. 


129 


patience, — “ but  they  need  know  nothing  about  it ; and,  indeed, 
I think  we  have  an  undoubted  right  to  dispose  as  we  please 
of  our  pocket  money,  and  that  Madame  d’Elfort  has  no  authority 
over  us,  in  matters  that  relate  to  religion.” 

“It  will  be  necessary,  indeed,”  replied  Emily,  “to  be  silent 
on  the  subject  of  our  little  plan;  but  let  us  beware,  lest  this 
caution  betray  us  into  duplicity,  and  thus  convert  a good  in- 
tention into  a snare,  and  an  occasion  of  sin.” 

“ Well,  at  any  rate,  there  can  be  no  sin  in  contributing  a trifle 
from  our  pocket  money,  to  advance  the  cause  of  true  Christianity 
in  the  world,  even  though  our  Roman  Catholic  teachers  know 
nothing  of  the  matter.  We  can  make  our  little  collection  every 
Sunday  afternoon,  after  prayers.  Do,  Emily,  give  me  your  sanc- 
tion, and  I shall  immediately  set  about  it.” 

“ I scarcely  know  what  to  say,  my  dear  Lydia.  I certainly 
should  like  the  attempt  to  be  made ; for,  independently  of  the 
money  which  would  thus  be  devoted  to  a good  purpose,  the  inter- 
est it  would  awaken  for  the  spiritual  welfare  of  others,  might  lead 
to  future  active  exertions  in  the  same  blessed  cause,  and,  perhaps, 
be  instrumental  in  convincing  the  mind  of  the  necessity  of  per- 
sonal religion.  Yet  I cannot  help  fearing,  with  Caroline,  that  it 
may  lead  to  unpleasant  results.” 

“ But,  cousin,  if  it  should  ever  be  known,  we  could  have  no  hesi- 
tation in  acknowledging  the  truth  ; and  I am  sure  no  one  has  any 
righ^to  find  fault  with  us,  or  could  reasonably  do  so.  Come,  you 
must  allow  me  to  become  the  foundress  of  a missionary  associa- 
tion. Here  is  a sow,  which  I found  yesterday  in  the  garden ; I 
have  offered  it  to  everybody  in  the  house,  and,  as  it  seems  to  be- 
long to  no  one,  it  shall  be  the  first  mite  in  our  little  treasury.  I 
propose  that  the  subscriptions  be  one  half-penny  per  week,  with 
permission  to  increase  the  amount  at  pleasure  ; and  that  the  first 
Sunday  of  every  month,  when  we  read  the  missionary  papers,  and 
use  the  missionary  prayer,  we  make  a general  collection  among 
ourselves,  in  aid  of  the  same  good  cause.  You  cannot  say  that 
the  amount  of  subscription  is  too  high ; and  I am  sure  that  money 
will  procure  us  more  real  pleasure,  than  that  which  is  spent  in 
cakes  and  frontages  delait” 

It  was  impossible  to  resist  the  sanguine  anticipations  and  elo 
quent  appeal  of  Lydia.  Before  the  close  of  that  day,  she  had  com- 
municated her  plan  to  all  the  English  girls,  except  two  or  three  of 
the  younger  ones,  whose  indiscretion  she  feared  ; and  her  success 
even  surpassed  her  expectations.  Her  companions  readily  entered 
into  her  views,  and  some  with  an  ardor  almost  equal  to  her  own. 
There  was  something  delightful  in  the  idea  of  a little  association 
exclusively  their  own;  an  association  purely  Protestant,  and, 
above  all,  entirely  English.  These  were,  perhaps,  the  only  mo- 
tives of  some,  while  others  merely  yielded  to  the  influence  of  ex 


130 


THE  MISSIONARY  ASSOCIATION. 


ample ; but  a few  were  actuated  by  a higher  and  nobler  feeling,  a 
sincere  and  lively  interest  in  the  success  of  the  gospel. 

Whatever  might  have  been  the  motives,  however,  that  first  ac- 
tuated our  young  contributors,  they  soon  felt  a warm  affection  for 
the  little  society  they  had  formed.  The  subscriptions  and  dona- 
tions, indeed,  were  trifling,  and  might  well  excite  a smile,  in  those 
accustomed  to  the  magnificent  scale  on  which  such  institutions 
are  carried  on  in  England ; but,  to  these  isolated  young  people, 
there  was  an  inexpressible  charm  in  their  humble  missionary 
plan  ; and,  at  Lydia’s  suggestion,  it  was  unanimously  resolved  that 
their  infant  society  should  be  called  the  “ Exile  Missionary  As- 
sociation.” 

Charlotte  and  Lucy  Barton  had  been  excluded  from  the  secret ; 
the  former  being  considered  too  much  under  French  influence, 
and  the  latter  too  young  for  discretion.  They  had,  however,  ob- 
served that  a monthly  collection  was  made,  and  inquired  its  ob- 
ject. Miss  Lushington,  to  whom  the  question  was  addressed, 
replied,  that  it  was  to  be  sent  to  England  for  the  poor,  and  excus- 
ed herself  to  Emily,  by  observing,  that  her  answer  contained  only 
the  truth,  though  not  the  whole  ti'utk;  “for  you  know,”  said  she, 
11  the  ignorant  heathen,  who  have  never  had  the  gospel,  are  poor, 
in  the  most  extensive  sense  of  the  word,  and  theirs  is  indeed  the 
most  deplorable  kind  of  poverty.” 

Emily  was  not  quite  satisfied  with  this  reasoning,  but  she 
scarcely  knew  what  course  it  would  be  best  to  pursue  ; and  the 
statement  of  Miss  Lushington  to  the  children  remained,  therefore, 
unexplained.  At  the  next  monthly  meeting,  Charlotte  and  Lucy 
requested  that  they  might  be  allowed  to  contribute  a small  sum 
to  the  collection  for  the  poor,  and  were,  of  course,  not  refused. 
Emily,  however,  charged  her  friends  not  to  urge  them  to  give 
anything ; but  the  little  girls  always  came  prepared  with  money 
for  the  occasion,  which  they  gave  with  so  much  good-will,  that 
it  was  at  length  resolved  to  make  them  acquainted  with  the  true 
nature  and  design  of  the  society,  at  the  next  monthly  meeting. 

More  than  three  weeks  previous  to  that  event,  however,  Madame 
d’Elfort  informed  her  pupils  that  the  Abbe  Mery,  her  confessor, 
would  come  the  next  day  to  the  school,  for  the  purpose  of  solicit- 
ing the  contributions  of  the  young  ladies,  to  a fund  for  defraying 
the  expenses  of  the  charity-children’s  clothing,  on  the  occasion  of 
the  premiere  communion , and  for  the  purchase  of  their  wax  tapers. 
She  requested  that  her  pupils  would  all  be  provided  with  money, 
when  he  came,  as  she  was  anxious  that  her  school  should  furnish 
a respectable  collection  ; and,  for  this  purpose,  she  directed  the 
teachers  to  ascertain  that  the  little  ones,  as  well  as  their  elder 
companions,  were  possessed  of  sufficient  funds  for  the  occasion. 

•The  English  girls  generally  considered  this  requisition  as  a tax, 
and  loudly  complained  of  it  among  themselves,  as  an  abuse  of 


THE  MISSIONARY  ASSOCIATION. 


131 


authority,  which  compelled  them  to  sanction,  and  pay  for,  the 
superstitious  rites  of  the  Popish  church.  Several  of  them  were, 
however,  examining  the  contents  of  their  purses,  and  calculating 
how  little  they  could  give,  without  being  reprimanded,  when  Helen 
entered,  with  a countenance  which  instantly  announced  disagree- 
able tidings. 

“ I have  just  been  to  my  room,”  said  she,  “ where  I was  busily 
engaged  in  putting  away  some  linen,  when,  as  the  door  which 
opens  into  Madame  d’Elfort’s  room  stood  ajar,  I heard  Made- 
moiselle St.  Andre  leading  in  Charlotte  and  Lucy  Barton.  She 
complained  that  they  had  no  money  left  for  to-morrow’s  collec- 
tion, and  that  they  assigned  as  a reason,  their  having  given  all 
that  remained  of  their  last  allowance  to  Miss  Mortimer.” 

“ * It  was  for  the  poor,’  said  Charlotte  ; ‘ there  was  a collection 
last  Sunday  in  Miss  Mortimers  room,  and  we,  of  course,  con- 
tributed like  the  rest.* 

“ 1 But  remember,  Charlotte,1  mildly  interposed  little  Lucy,  ‘ we 
were  not  asked  to  give  anything.  It  was  all  quite  free,  and  we 
needed  not  have  given  so  much  as  we  did.  Had  we  known  that 
Monsieur  Mery  was  coming  to-morrow,  we  might  easily  have  kept 
a few  sous.’ 

“ ‘ What  is  all  this  V inquired  Madame  d’Elfort,  in  a tone  of 
displeasure.  ‘ What  authority  has  Mademoiselle  Mortimer  to 
make  collections  ? And  who  are  the  poor  for  whom  she  thus  ex- 
erts herself  V 

“ Mademoiselle  St.  Andre  replied,  with  one  of  her  scornful, 
ironical  smiles,  that 4 she  understood  Miss  Mortimer  collected 
money  for  the  English  poor,  and  that  it  was  soon  to  be  trans- 
mitted to  England.’ 

“‘Impossible!’  exclaimed  Madame  d’Elfort,  ‘Miss  Mortimer 
could  never  think  of  collecting  for  the  English  poor,  while  there 
are  so  many  objects  of  charity  in  our  immediate  neighborhood. 
But  I will  see  to  it,’  she  added,  rising ; ‘ I must  inquire  into  this 
business,  and  see  that  Miss  Barton’s  money  is  returned,  for  I must 
have  none  of  my  young  ladies  penniless  to-morrow.’  ” 

“ As  soon  as  I heard  this,”  continued  Helen,  “ I ran  hither  to 
warn  you  of  the  danger,  for  I am  afraid  we  shall  all  have  a tre- 
mendous examination,  and  perhaps  a thundering  reprimand,  if 
nothing  worse.  I wish  those  tiresome  little  creatures  had 
never  known  or  seen  anything  of  our  collections.  It  will  be 
necessary,  of  course,  to  give  them  back  the  sum  they  have  con- 
tributed', but  what  I fear  is,  that  our  cherished  little  missionary 
secret  may  come  to  the  knowledge  of  the  French ; and  then  we 
shall  be  forbidden  to  continue  our  meetings,  and  our  dear  society.” 

“ The  money,  of  course,”  observed  Emily,  “ must  be  returned 
to  Charlotte  and  Lucy ; but  if  Madame  d’Elfort  asks  me  any  ques- 
tions, I shall  immediately  tell  her  the  whole  truth,  whatever  the 


132 


THE  MISSIONARY  ASSOCIATION. 


consequences  may  be ; for  you  know,  my  dear  friends,  we  arc 
forbidden  to  ‘ do  evil,  that  good  may  come.’  ” 

All  the  English  party  looked  very  sorrowful,  at  the  idea  of  their 
favorite  project  being  thus  frustrated.  Emily  immediately  sought 
the  little  Bartons,  and,  after  explaining  to  them  the  object  of  the 
collection,  gave  them  back  the  trifling  sum  they  had  contributed. 
She  felt  somewhat  agitated,  at  the  prospect  of  an  explanation  with 
Madame  d’Elfort ; but,  from  some  cause  which  was  never  reveal- 
ed, that  lady  avoided  all  mention  of  the  subject;  and  the  little 
society,  therefore,  proceeded  as  before. 

The  next  morning,  the  abbe  paid  his  promised  visit  to  the  school- 
room, and  delivered  a speech  to  the  young  ladies,  in  which  he 
labored  to  prove  the  utility  of  the  object  he  had  in  view,  and  as- 
sured his  auditors  that  their  contributions  would  be  accepted  by 
heaven,  as  infinitely  meritorious,  and  conducive  to  their  eternal 
salvation.  The  consequence  of  this  address  was,  as  he  expected, 
a liberal  collection ; and,  after  the  usual  return,  on  his  part,  of 
flattering  praise,  he  left  the  school-room,  accompanied  by  Madame 
d’Elfort.  Emily,  who  had  not  been  present,  encountered  them  on 
her  way  from  the  music  room  ; and  her  governess  took  her  by  the 
hand,  to  introduce  her  to  Monsieur  Mery. 

The  abbe  was  a man  of  benevolent  character,  and  had  lately 
taken  a warm  interest  in  the  fate  of  an  English  family  residing  at 

S which  had  been  reduced  to  a state  of  great  destitution. 

He  had  been  many  years  in  England,  whither  he  had  fled  from  the 
horrors  of  the  Revolution,  and  where  he  had  been  treated  with 
that  generosity  and  kindness  which  were  so  liberally  bestowed  on 
the  unhappy  fugitives.  These  obligations  he  was  ever  ready  to 
acknowledge,  with  a gratitude  which  did  honor  to  his  character ; 
and  his  partiality  for  the  English  was  as  proverbial  as  it  was  sin- 
cere. He  had,  therefore,  exerted  all  his  influence,  to  assist  the  dis- 
tressed family,  and  had  called  on  Madame  d’Elfort  to  forward  his 
object.  That  lady  placed  the  case  in  the  hands  of  Emily,  by  whom 
an  appeal  was  made  to  the  English  pupils,  in  behalf  of  their  un- 
fortunate compatriots,  and  a respectable  sum  collected,  for  a sup- 
ply of  their  necessities.  She  had  also  mentioned  the  subject  to 
the  English  Protestant  minister,  and,  through  his  exertions,  a sub- 
scription was  opened  among  the  English  residents  of  S , which 

restored  the  objects  of  their  bounty  to  a state  of  comfort  and  inde- 
pendence. 

The  abbe  had  expressed  a wish  to  know  the  young  lady  who 
had  been  the  active  agent  in  this  work  of  charity;  and  when 
Madame  d’Elfort  presented  Emily,  he  addressed  her  in  a strain  of 
adulation  which  very  much  disconcerted  her. 

“ My  gratitude  to  the  English,  Mademoiselle,  makes  me  anxious 
to  return,  in  any  degree  that  may  be  in  my  power,  the  obligations 
I have  received  from  them ; and  the  affection  I bear  your  country 


THE  MISSIONARY  ASSOCIATION. 


133 


makes  my  heart  thrill  with  pleasure,  when  I see  any  of  its  chil- 
dren, like  you,  exhibiting  a character  of  surpassing  excellence, 
and  aspiring  to  that  crown  of  glory  which  is  the  reward  of  charity 
and  benevolence.”  • 

Emily  felt  it  her  duty  to  disclaim  the  sentiments  contained  in 
this  speech,  and,  therefore,  modestly  observed,  that  eternal  life 
was  the  gift  of  God,  and  not  to  be  purchased  by  any  human  merit. 

Madame  d’Elfort  smiled  at  this  remark,  and  said  to  the  abbe, 

“ My  dear  father,  this  is  one  of  those  singular  notions  which  I 
have  mentioned  to  you,  as  distinguishing  my  excellent  young 
friend.  She  insists  upon  it,  that  there  is  no  merit  whatever  in 
good  works ; and  yet  I never  knew  any  one  more  anxious  to  do 
good  than  herself.” 

“ Indeed,  Madam,”  replied  Emily,  “ I am  deeply  conscious  that 
* in  me,  that  is,  in  my  flesh,  dwelleth  no  good  thing,’  and  that  I 
cannot  do  one  good  action,  without  the  influence  of  the  Spirit  of 
God.  I dare  not,  therefore,  accept  praises  which  I do  not  de 
serve.” 

“Mademoiselle’s  modesty,”  observed  the  priest, '“only  enhances 
the  value  of  her  many  virtues,  and  she  is  quite  right,  in  saying 
that  we  all  need  the  assistance  of  the  Holy  Spirit ; but  she  must 
allow  me  to  tell  her,  that  it  is  a highly  dangerous  doctrine,  which 
teaches  that  there  is  no  merit  in  good  works  ; for  it  takes  away 
that  incentive  to  virtue  which  is  always  found  in  the  hope  of  a 
glorious  reward.  Will  you  permit  me,  my  dear  young  friend,  tc 
inquire  where  you  have  learned  that  demoralizing  tenet  V 1 

“ Call  it  not  demoralizing,  Sir,  for  it  is  the  doctrine  of  the  Bible.” 

A slight  expression  of  impatience  passed  over  the  mild  counte 
nance  of  the  abbe. 

w On  what,  then,  do  you  consider  that  a Christian’s  claim  to 
heaven  is  founded  ?” 

“ On  the  death  and  righteousness  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  who 
alone  has  purchased  eternal  life  for  all  those  who  believe  on  him. 
The  Bible  tells  us  that  ‘ whosoever  believeth  on  the  Son  of  God 
hath  everlasting  life,’  and  that  ‘ if  righteousness  come  by  the  law, 
then  Christ  is  dead  in  vain.’  ” 

“ But  what  inducement,  then,  does  your  system  offer,  to  the  per- 
formance of  good  works  *?  If  there  is  no  merit  in  them,  there  can 
be  no  sin  in  neglecting  them.” 

“ What  can  be  a stronger  motive,  Sir,  than  the  desire  to  glorify 
Him  ‘who  loved  us,  and  gave  himself  for  usV  If  our  faith  is 
genuine,  it  will  prove  itself  to  be  so,  by  its  appropriate  fruits  ; and . 
those  who  know  that  ‘ without  holiness,  no  man  can  see  the  Lord,’ 
will  certainly  strive  to  become  4 holy,  in  all  manner  of  conversa- 
tion.’” 

“ Well,  ma  chere  demoiselle ,”  said  the  abbe,  evidently  desirous  to 
change  the  ground  of  argument,  “ I cannot  dispute  with  you  on  so 

12 


134  THE  MISSIONARY  ASSOCIATION. 

delicate  a subject;  but  I must  be  permitted  to  hope  that,  as  mem- 
bers of  the  true  church,  we  shall  one  day  meet  in  those  mansions 
of  eternal  blessedness,  where,  I have  no  doubt,  your  virtues  will 
procure  you  that  crown  of  glory  which'is  the  reward  of  piety  and 
good  works.” 

“ My  virtues  ! oh ! say  not  so,  I beseech  you !”  exclaimed  Emily, 
clasping  her  hands,  in  the  energy  of  her  feelings.  “ I should  not 
dare  to  risk  my  soul  on  the  best  action  I ever  did,  for  I know  there 
is  so  much  sin  in  it,  that  it  could  only  ensure  my  condemnation.” 

A glance  of  pity,  and  almost  of  contempt,  were  exchanged  be- 
tween Madame  d’Elfort  and  the  priest ; and  then  the  latter,  giving 
up  the  argument,  mentioned  the  purport  of  his  visit  to  the  house, 
and  added,  ‘‘  that  he  doubted  not  Mademoiselle  Mortimer  would 
show  her  usual  liberality  to  his  poor  little  communicants.”  Emily 
felt  that  she  was  not  at  liberty  to  refuse  ; she  therefore  gave  a 
small  donation,  observing,  “ that  she  was  happy  to  contribute  to 
the  clothing  of  the  poor  children.” 

She  was  then  permitted  to  withdraw,  which  she  did  with  sen- 
sations of  a very  mixed  nature.  When  she  looked  at  the  venerable 
figure  of  the  abbe,  his  white  locks,  and  the  benignant  expression  of 
his  countenance,  she  felt  quite  inclined  to  love  and  respect  him ; 
but  when  she  remembered,  that  he  was  one  of  those  false  teachers 
who  delude  the  ignorant,  by  inculcating  doctrines  which  they  must 
know  to  be  erroneous,  she  almost  shuddered  at  the  idea  of  the 
fearful  guilt  he  incurred. 

“ And  this  priest,”  she  mentally  exclaimed,  “ this  old  man,  who 
has  been  so  long  in  England,  surrounded  by  gospel  light,  who  is 
at  liberty  to  read  the  Bible,  and  must,  therefore,  be  aware  of  the 
awful  risk  he  runs, — does  he  thus  wilfully  lead  the  blind  to  the 
brink  of  the  pit  ? or  is  he,  too,  the  dupe  of  these  dangerous  false- 
hoods ?” 

This  was  a question  which  it  was  impossible  to  resolve  ; but 
it  was  a painful  one  to  the  feelings  of  Emily,  for  it  alternately  ex- 
cited pity,  indignation,  and  sorrow. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


PROTESTANT  INCONSISTENCY 

Wo  unto  the  world,  because  of  offences ! for  it  must  needs  be  that  offences 
come : but  wo  unto  that  man  by  whom  the  offence  cometh.— Matthew 
xviii.  7. 

The  English  party  at  Madame  d’Elfort’s  received  a new  addition, 
by  the  arrival  of  a young  lady  about  sixteen,  the  daughter  of  a 
clergyman.  Emily  hoped,  from  her  father’s  profession,  that  she 
would  be  found,  at  least,  seriously  disposed ; but  she  was  doomed 
to  be  disappointed.  Eliza  Devereux  was  one  of  those  every-day 
characters  of  whom  little  can  be  said ; and  she  seemed  to  have 
no  idea  of  religion,  beyond  that  of  a compliance  with  its  most 
general  outward  observances. 

The  Sunday  morning  arrived,  and  the  weather  was  beautiful. 
A universal  feeling  of  delight  pervaded  every  bosom,  as  the  Pro- 
testant girls  beheld  the  cloudless  atmosphere,  and  anticipated 
their  pleasant,  quiet  walk  to  church,  with  no  Roman  Catholic 
companions  to  throw  a restraint  on  their  conversation,  or  mar  the 
harmony  of  their  sentiments.  It  was  one  of  those  lovely  morn- 
ings in  early  spring,  when,  without  well  knowing  why,  the  heart 
seemed  to  bound  with  joyous  exultation,  and  an  unaccountable 
buoyancy  is  imparted  to  the  before  languid  spirits.  Emily  felt 
its  invigorating  influence,  and  her  pleasurable  feelings  were  not  a 
little  enhanced  by  the  sparkling  glances  that  greeted  her,  when- 
ever she  encountered  the  eyes  of  her  companions.  Breakfast  was 
over,  and  the  usual  business,  so  unsuitable  to  the  Sabbath,  of  pay- 
ing the  weekly  allowances  of  pocket-money,  was  also  concluded, 
when  Madame  d’Elfort  addressed  Emily. 

“ Mademoiselle  Mortimer,  have  you  sufficient  room  at  the 
chapel  for  Miss  Devereux,  or  shall  I send  the  church-warden  no- 
tice that  we  want  an  additional  pew  Vy 

Emily  replied,  that  she  believed  they  might  find  room  for  her, 
but  that  the  pews  were  nearly  full  already. 

At  this  moment,  Mademoiselle  St.  Andre  informed  Madame 
d’Elfort,  that  Miss  Devereux  did  not  wish  to  attend  the  Protes- 
tant chapel.  A half-suppressed  exclamation  of  surprise  burst 
from  every  lip,  and  every  eye  was  instantly  fixed  on  the  young 
lady  in  question.  Madame  d’Elfort  inquired  her  reasons  for  so 
singular  a declaration  and  she  replied,  that  her  father  had  en- 
joined her  to  attend  the  Catholic  service  at  the  cathedral. 

“ But,  wherefore,  my  dear  child,  should  you  do  so  ?”  inquired 
the  governess.  “ Are  you  not  a Protestant  ? and  is  not  your  father 
a Protestant  minister  V\ 


136 


PROTESTANT  INCONSISTENCY. 


“ Yes,  madam,  but  papa  wishes  me  to  attend  the  French  ser- 
vice, because  he  thinks  it  will  help  me  to  acquire  the  language.” 

This  curious  reason  was  received  with  a general  smile  of  ridi- 
cule, from  which  even  Madame  d’Elfort  could  not  refrain ; but 
perceiving  that  the  poor  girl  was  very  much  confused,  she  re- 
plied, with  a look  at  her  pupils,  which  awed  the  rising  merri- 
ment. 

“ You  must  surely,  my  dear,  be  mistaken  in  what  you  say  : 
your  papa  cannot  but  be  aware  that  our  church-service  is  not  in 
French,  but  in  Latin.  But,  however  that  may  be,  I cannot  allow 
you  to  depart  so  seriously  from  the  customs  of  your  religion, 
without  clearer  authority,  and  more  conclusive  reasons.  I shall 
write  to  your  father  on  this  subject ; — in  the  mean  time,  you  will 
attend  the  Protestant  chapel,  with  your  English  companions.” 

The  whole  company  then  dispersed,  to  prepare  for  their  respec- 
tive places  of  worship ; but  the  subject  of  that  morning’s  conver- 
sation was  not  so  easily  dismissed.  It  furnished  matter  for  much 
indignant  and  sorrowful  discussion,  among  the  English  girls,  and 
gave  occasion  to  many  sneers  and  taunts  from  the  French.  Rose 
de  Liancourt  was,  perhaps,  the  only  one  who  made  no  ungenerous 
remark:  but  Mademoiselle  St  Andre  seemed  to  triumph  in  the 
advantage  it  gave  them.  “ So  much  for  the  religion  of  a Protes- 
tant minister!”  she  exclaimed,  while  the  scornful  curl  of  her  lip 
spoke  even  more  loudly  than  her  words.  “ Did  you  ever  hear  of  a 
Catholic  priest’s  authorizing,  or  even  allowing,  any  member  of 
his  family  to  attend  a Protestant  church,  for  any  consideration 
whatever'?  No,  never!  he  would  not  even  countenance  the 
meanest  member  of  his  flock  in  such  an  action ! But  your  min- 
isters are  so  indifferent  on  the  subject,  or  rather  so  little  convinced 
of  the  truth  of  their  own  doctrines,  that  they  send  their  children  to  a 
Catholic  church,  to  learn  French  from  a Latin  service  ! — thus  dis- 
playing at  once  their  irreligion  and  their  ignorance !” 

If  the  French  pupils  did  not  all  say  so  much,  they  evidently 
enjoyed  the  malicious  observations  of  their  superior;  and  the 
serious  English  party  found  that  it  was  indeed  “ a day  of  trouble, 
of  rebuke,  and  blasphemy,”  and  of  triumph  to  their  relentless  ad- 
versaries. They  felt  that  it  was  a time  of  humiliation,  when  they 
were  called  upon  to  “ take  up  the  cross,”  and  follow  their  Saviour 
through  “ evil  report,  as  well  as  good  report.”  And  they  trembled, 
when  they  thought  of  the  fearful  responsibility  incurred,  by  those 
who  thus  cast  a stumbling-block  in  the  way  of  their  Redeemer’s 
cause. 

Their  pleasant  walk  to  the  church  was  rendered  unusually  sad 
and  silent,  by  this  painful  occurrence.  The  presence  of  Miss  De- 
vereux,  of  course,  prevented  any  general  or  audible  expression  of 
their  sentiments  on  the  subject,  and  there  was  an  almost  involun- 
tary feeling  of  reserve  in  their  intercourse  with  her.  Some  of 


PROTESTANT  INCONSISTENCY. 


137 


them  indeed  seemed  even  to  shrink  fiomher;  but  Lydia  took 
pity  on  the  poor  girl,  and  drew  her  into  conversation.  Emily  and 
Helen  always  walked  together;  for  the  latter  had  exacted  that 
promise  from  the  former,  and  would  not  relinquish  her  claim,  un- 
less on  very  particular  occasions  ; and  this  opportunity  for  unre- 
served confidence  was  very  sweet  to  both  parties. 

When  they  assembled  in  the  afternoon,  they  were  again  sur- 
prised by  the  discovery  that  Miss  Devereux  had  no  Bible ! Lydia’s 
indignation  burst  forth  at  this  announcement,  and  she  asked  how 
it  was  possible  that  a Protestant  clergyman  could  send  his  child 
anywhere,  and  more  especially  to  such  a place,  without  furnish- 
ing her  with  the  book  he  professed  to  regard  as  the  foundation  of 
nis  faith  ? 

“ Do  you  never  read  the  Bible  ?”  she  inquired,  while  Emily  and 
Caroline  strove  in  vain  to  check  her,  by  their  looks  of  disapproba- 
tion. 

“ Oh  ! yes,”  replied  Miss  Devereux,  “ we  always  read  it  at  home, 
on  the  Sunday  afternoon,  and  sometimes  during  the  week ; but  I 
was  so  careless  as  to  forget  to  bring  one.” 

“ Your  father  ought  to  have  attended  to  it,”  rejoined  the  im- 
petuous Lydia ; but  her  sister  prevented  her  saying  more,  and  it 
was  arranged  that  she  should  read  with  one  of  the  others.  The 
poor  girl  seemed  much  mortified  at  the  situation  in  which  she 
was  placed,  and  annoyed  by  the  feeling  of  disapprobation  so  evi- 
dent in  her  companions.  She  expressed  her  intention  of  writing 
to  her  father  for  a Bible,  and  seemed  anxious  to  conciliate  esteem, 
by  paying  great  attention  to  the  service. 

Weeks  rolled  on,  and  Madame  d’Elfort  received  an  answer  to 
the  letter  she  had  written  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Devereux.  In  it,  that 
gentleman  again  expressed  his  wish,  that  his  daughter  should 
attend  the  Roman  Catholic  service,  as  he  considered  she  might 
be  benefited  by  hearing  French  sermons.  That  lady,  however, 
with  a firmness  which  did  her  honor,  refused  to  allow  this  ar- 
rangement, unless  the  young  lady  openly  abjured  her  present 
faith,  and  professed  herself  a convert  to  Popery.  The  reasons  she 
alleged  were,  the  necessity  of  consistency  in  matters  of  religion, 
and  the  danger  of  her  compliance  in  this  particular  being  misin 
terpreted,  and  so  becoming  the  means  of  injuring  her  establish- 
ment in  the  opinion  of  Protestants.  Her  good  sense  and  resolu- 
tion prevailed,  and  the  divine  at  length  consented  that  his  daughter 
should  continue  to  attend  the  English  ehapel. 

This  decision  was  followed  by  another  startling  incident.  Lit- 
tle Agnes  Beverley  had  long  manifested  an  increased  partiality  for 
the  doctrines  and  customs  of  Popery,  and  she  one  day  confided  to 
Mademoiselle  Laval  her  desire  of  attending  confession,  and  enter- 
ing on  a preparatory  course  of  instruction,  with  a view  of  her  be- 
coming, at  a proper  age,  a member  of  the  church  of  Rome.  The 
12* 


13S 


PROTESTANT  INCONSISTENCY. 


teacher  communicated  this  intelligence  to  Madame  d’Elfort,  who, 
with  a prudence  highly  commendable,  refused  to  let  the  child  take 
a single  step  in  the  affair,  and  insisted  that  she  should  dismiss  all 
thoughts  of  such  a change,  until  she  had  either  attained  to  years 
of  discretion,  cr  succeeded  in  obtaining  the  consent  of  her  parents. 
The  wisdom  of  this  decision  was  soon  apparent;  for  the  vola- 
tile girl’s  whim,  not  being  encouraged,  or  fostered  by  flattery, 
gradually  yielded  to  the  influence  of  time  and  other  fancies,  and 
she  lost  all  desire  of  becoming  a Roman  Catholic,  though  she 
too  frequently  followed  their  customs  and  example.  These  cir- 
cumstances were  known  to  but  few  of  the  English  boarders, 
and  they  thought  it  best  to  be  as  silent  as  possible  on  the  sub- 
ject; but  Lydia,  and  one  or  two  others,  undertook  to  reason  with 
Agnes,  and  succeeded  so  well,  that  she  was  thoroughly  ashamed 
of  her  conduct. 

It  now  began  to  be  rumored  in  the  school,  that  Mademoi- 
selle Laval  was  going  to  resign  her  charge ; and  the  report  was 
soon  after  confirmed.  That  young  lady  had  for  some  time 
wished  to  embrace  a religious  life,  and  was  now  about  to  put 
her  design  into  execution,  by  joining  a society  of  Grey  sisters 
in  the  south  of  France.  Her  gentle  manners,  and  benevolent 
disposition,  peculiarly  fitted  her  for  the  work  she  was  under, 
taking;  but  Emily  and  her  friends  sincerely  regretted  her  ap- 
proaching departure;  for  her  kindness  and  indulgence  had  en- 
deared her  to  their  hearts.  They  were  surprised  to  find,  how- 
ever,  that  this  was  not  the  case  with  the  generality  of  the 
boarders;  for  her  very  mildness  and  lenity  had  had  the  too 
common  effect  of  inspiring  contempt,  rather  than  affection.  As 
she  had  not  been  feared,  so  neither  had  she  been  respected  ; her 
conduct  was  familiarly  canvassed,  and  the  charges  of  favoritism 
and  partiality  frequently,  though  very  unjustly,  brought  against 
her. 

Lydia  was  so  incensed  at  the  ingratitude  of  many  of  the  board- 
ers, who  repaid  the  indulgence  of  Mademoiselle  Laval  by  expres- 
sions of  pleasure  at  her  approaching  departure,  that  with  her 
usual  warmth,  she  told  them  she  hoped  they  would  be  punished 
as  they  deserved  by  being  subjected  to  the  rule  of  a tyrant,  in- 
stead of  the  gentle  and  ill-requited  teacher  they  so  little  appre- 
ciated. And  her  indignant  prediction  was  soon  fulfilled. 

Mademoiselle  Laval  departed,  followed  by  the  sincere  and  un- 
disguised regrets  of  a few,  who  knew  her  amiable  qualities,  and 
had  learned  to  estimate  her  worth.  Among  these  were  Rose  de 
Liancourt,  and  the  serious  English  party.  The  next  day  a lady 
arrived  to  fill  her  situation,  whose  appearance  and  manners  pre- 
sented a perfect  contrast  to  those  of  her  kind-hearted  predecessor. 
Pride,  bigotry,  and  reserve,  were  the  characteristics  of  Mdlle. 
Mornay ; and  the  startling  severity  with  which  she  began  her 


PROTESTANT  INCONSISTENCY. 


139 


reign,  at  once  terrified  and  revolted  those  who  had  long  been 
accustomed  to  very  different  treatment.  A thousand  little  indul- 
gences, which  the  good  nature  of  the  former  teacher  had  suffered  to 
encroach  on  the  almost  monastic  strictness  of  the  school-regula- 
tions, were  instantly  withdrawn,  and  a great  number  of  unneces- 
sary restrictions  imposed,  to  which,  hitherto,  the  boarders  had 
been  totally  unaccustomed.  Added  to  all  this,  there  was  a stiff- 
ness and  hauteur  in  her  behavior  to  them,  which  were  calculated 
to  make  her  anything  but  popular ; and  it  is  almost  unnecessary 
to  say,  that  she  was  soon  hated  by  many,  and  thoroughly  disliked 
by  all. 

Emily  and  Caroline,  however,  had  no  reason  to  complain  of 
her  in  this  respect,  for  Mademoiselle  Mornay  seemed,  from  the 
first,  to  have  conceived  a predilection  for  them.  She  would  occa- 
sionally enter  into  conversation  with  them,  and  they  found  her  a 
woman  of  good  abilities,  extensive  information,  and  great  upright- 
ness-of  character,  though  these  sterling  qualities  were  greatly 
obscured  by  an  austere  temper,  and  unprepossessing  manners. 
She  was  extremely  fond  of  Italian,  a language  in  which  Emily 
had  made  considerable  proficiency ; and  she  would  often  request 
her  assistance,  in  reading  or  translating  it.  This  subject  paved 
the  way  for  much  conversation  between  them,  and  Emily  could 
not  but  acknowledge  her  to  be  a clever,  sensible  woman. 

But  there  was  one  circumstance,  which  made  the  change  of 
teachers  particularly  disagreeable  to  the  Protestants.  Mademoi- 
selle was  what  the  French  call  devote , and  her  devotion  often  ex- 
hibited itself  in  bigotry  and  intolerance.  She  introduced  many 
customs  into  the  school,  to  which  it  was  impossible  for  the  Eng 
lish  boarders  conscientiously  to  conform.  Among  these  was  the 
repetition  of  the  Ave  Maria,  or  salutation  to  the  Virgin,  at  noon, 
and  at  six  in  the  evening,  when  the  cathedral  bell  always  sounded 
for  that  purpose.  At  this  signal  she  required  the  whole  school  to 
rise,  and  recite  it  after  her.  The  following  is  a literal  transla- 
tion — 

“ Hail,  Mary,  full  of  grace ! the  Lord  is  with  thee ; blessed  art 
thou  among  women,  and  blessed  is  Jesus,  the  fruit  of  thy  womb. 

“ Holy  Mary,  mother  of  God,  pray  for  us  poor  sinners,  both  now 
and  at  the  time  of  our  death  !” 

When  the  idolatrous  nature  of  this  prayer  is  considered,  it  can- 
not be  thought  surprising  that  the  Protestants  should  refuse  to 
utter  it.  A general  look  at  Emily  besought  her  interference,  and 
she  felt  it  her  duty  to  remonstrate  against  this  order,  as  soon  as  it 
was  delivered  by  Mademoiselle  Mornay.  She  represented  to  her 
their  difference  of  religion ; and  requested  an  exemption  from  a 
rule  with  which  they  could  not  compty.  The  teacher  seemed 
angry,  and  would  most  probably  have  refused  this  request ; but 
Madame  d’Elfort  happily  entered  the  room  at  that  moment,  and 


140 


THE  FETE-DIEU. 


to  her  Emily  referred  the  question.  Her  hopes  from  that  lady’s 
general  impartiality  were  not  disappointed : she  ordered  that  the 
Protestants  should  remain  seated,  and  should  in  no  wise  be  re- 
quired to  join  the  ave. 

Another  innovation  in  the  school  was  that  of  compelling  the 
younger  children  to  kiss  the  ground,  or  kneel  or  the  floor,  as  a 
punishment  for  trivial  offences.  This  was  at  first  inflicted  only 
on  the  French;  but  the  English  girls  were  thunderstruck,  when 
they  heard  the  order  given  to  Maria  Lushington,  in  consequence 
of  her  transgressing  the  rules  by  talking.  Maria  was  giddy  and 
thoughtless,  but  extremely  high-spirited ; and  the  feelings  of  na 
tional  religion  were  immediately  aroused  in  her  bosom.  She 
glanced  at  some  of  her  companions,  and,  encouraged  by  their 
looks,  boldly  replied,  that  “ she  had  been  taught  to  kneel  only  to 
God.”  The  effect  of  this  declaration  was  electric.  Mademoiselle 
Mornay’s  anger  seemed  ready  to  burst  like  a thunder-cloud  on  the 
daring  little  rebel ; but  a moment’s  reflection  evidently  recalled 
her  prudence,  and  she  changed  the  punishment,  by  condemning 
the  culprit  to  write  six  French  verbs.  Maria  gloried  in  her  tri- 
umph, and  so  did  many  others ; and  when  Emily  found  that,  from 
that  time,  the  Protestants  were  exempted  from  the  obnoxious 
rule,  she  felt  thankful  that  the  circumstance  had  been  overruled 
for  good,  though  the  young  champion  had  certainly  been'actuated 
by  pride,  rather  than  by  any  religious  feeling. 


CHAPTER  XXI.  3 

THE  FETE-DIEU. 

Thou  shalt  not  make  to  thyself  any  graven  image,  nor  the  likeness  of  any. 
thing  that  is  in  heaven  above,  or  in  the  earth  beneath,  or  in  the  waters  under 
the  earth  ; thou  shall  not  bow  down  to  them,  nor  worship  them. — Exodus 
xx.  4,  5. 

Time  rolled  on,  and  the  beginning  of  June  brought  round  the  pe- 
riod when  the  Sacre  or  Fete  Dim , was  to  be  celebrated.  On  this  oc- 
casion, he  host  is  carried  about  in  procession,  through  all  the  prin- 
cipal streets ; and,  as  this  homage  to  the  sacramental  wafer  was  be- 
lieved to  have  the  effect  of  sanctifying  the  place,  of  making  an 
attonement  for  all  public  offences,  and  entailing  a peculiar  blessing 
on  its  due  performance,  every  effort  was  made  to  invest  it  with 


THE  FETE-DIEU. 


141 


all  possible  solemnity  and  splendor.  The  fronts  of  the  houses 
Were  hung  with  white  draperies,  and  ornamented  with  garlands 
and  boquets  of  flowers.  It  was  the  Sunday  morning,  and  the  gay 
population,  dressed  in  their  holiday-clothes,  were  thronging  the  dif- 
ferent avenues  that  led  to  the  cathedral.  The  streets  were  care- 
fully swept,  and  profusely  strewed  with  flowers  ; the  bells  of  the 
town  rung  out  their  most  joyous  peals ; and  all  around  was  bus- 
tle, gaiety  and  animation. 

The  English  boarders  at  Madame  d’Elfort’s  had  invariably 
stayed  away  from  divine  service,  in  order  to  witness  the  ceremony. 
This,  indeed,  was  considered  a compliment,  which  they  owed  to 
their  Roman  Catholic  instructors,  and  to  the  religion  of  the  coun- 
try in  which  they  then  resided.  On  this  occasion,  however,  Emi- 
ly, Lydia,  Helen,  Louisa,  and  a few  others,  had  expressed  their 
resolution  of  not  conforming  to  the  custom,  and  had  requested  to 
be  conducted  to  the  chapel  as  usual.  The  subject  excited  much 
interest,  and  gave  rise  to  many  discussions  among  the  English. 
Miss  Gordon,  and  a party  of  her  friends,  maintained  that  such  a 
course  would  be  extremely  unwise,  as  it  would  not  only  deprive 
them  of  the  sight,  but,  they  were  quite  sure,  would  highly  offend 
Madame  d’Elfort.  On  the  other  hand,  it  was  replied,  that,  by  wil- 
fully absenting  themselves  from  the  worship  of  God,  they  would 
be  violating  the  sanctity  of  the  Sabbath,  as  well  as  countenancing 
a ceremony  which  they  knew  to  be  idolatrous  ; and,  that,  even  sup- 
posing their  governess  were  displeased,  it  was  their  duty,  on  every 
occasion,  to  “ obey  God  rather  than  man.”  The  point  was  repeat- 
edly discussed,  and  the  debates  grew  very  warm  ; but  the  serious 
party  remained  firm,  and,  while  some  were  convinced  by  their  ar- 
guments, others  began  to  feel  ashamed  of  their  opposition.  Fanny 
Gordon,  however,  and  a few  others,  were  obstinate  in  their  deter- 
mination of  witnessing  the  ceremony ; and  there  was  every  proba- 
bility of  a division  taking  place  on  the  occasion.  The  teachers 
and  French  boarders  were  extremely  angry,  at  the  slight  thus  in- 
tended to  be  offered  to  their  church.  Madame  d’Elfort  looked 
grave  and  seemed  at  first  indignant*,  but  she  permitted  them  to  act 
as  they  pleased  ; observing  that  she  had  too  much  respect  for  con- 
sistency, to  put  any  restraint  on  their  decision. 

The  morning,  however,  was  stormy  and  lowering,  and  as  it  seem- 
ed to  threaten  rain,  they  were  not  permitted  to  attend  the  chapel. 
This,  of  course,  settled  the  question  ; the  opposition  were  delight- 
ed, the  Roman  Catholics  triumphed ; and,  as  the  weather  event- 
ually became  remarkably  fine,  the  disappointed  party  were  obliged 
to  follow  the  others,  to  view  the  ceremony. 

Madame  d’Elfort  took  her  English  pupils  to  the  house  of  a 
friend  of  hers,  in  the  town,  from  whose  balcony  they  could  see  the 
whole  procession  to  great  advantage.  There  were  temporary 
altars  erected  in  the  streets,  the  steps  of  which  were  covered  with 


142 


THE  FETE-DIEU. 


carpeting;  these  are  called  reposoirs , and  intended  as  rests  for  the 
host,  in  its  progress  through  the  town.  Everything  costly  and 
splendid  that  could  be  borrowed  in  the  neighborhood,  was  pro- 
fusely heaped  on  these  altars,  and  they  certainly  presented  a mag 
nificent  coup-d'as il.  Silver  candlesticks,  and  other  articles  of  plate, 
rich  vases,  gold  and  silver  goblets,  valuable  rings,  necklaces,  and 
bracelets,  were  readily  lent  for  the  occasion,  by  the  poor  deluded 
votaries,  who  really  thought  they  were  “ doing  God  service,”  as 
well  as  displaying  their  piety  and  devotion.  On  each  reposoir  was 
placed  an  open  miniature  temple,  covered  with  a profusion  of  rich 
lace  ; it  terminated  in  a spire,  crowned  with  the  choicest  and  most 
beautiful  flowers. 

Madame  d’Elfort  and  her  French  pupils  attended  mass,  and 
then  accompanied  the  procession,  which  issued  from  the  cathe- 
dral immediately  after.  The  host,  or  consecrated  wafer,  was  car 
ried  by  the  cure  in  a small  silver  box,  under  a canopy  of  white  silk 
ornamented  with  ribbons,  flowers,  and  feathers.  Three  or  four 
other  priests  supported  this  canopy,  and  they  were  surrounded  by 
all  the  clergy  of  the  town  and  neighborhood,  in  their  splendid 
robes  of  crimson,  purple,  and  white,  embroidered  in  gold  and  sil- 
ver. They  were  preceded  by  a band  of  music,  all  the  civil  authori 
ties  in  full  costume,  and  about  flve  hundred  young  women  of  the 
congregation , dressed  in  white,  and  shrouded  in  their  long  muslin 
veils.  Immediately  before  the  host,  walked  a number  of  little 
boys,  children  of  the  principal  families,  in  white  surplices,  with  gir- 
dles of  rose-colored  ribbon.  They  were  bareheaded,  and  carried 
baskets  of  flowers,  which  they  scattered  profusely  in  the  way. 
Emily  was  informed,  by  those  young  ladies  who  had  seen  the  pa- 
geant before,  that  these  children  were  frequently  furnished  with 
artificial  wings,  that  they  might  personate  angels  preceding  the 
bon  Dieu!  One  priest  carried  an  immense  gilt  cross  before  the 
host,  and  another  a censer,  smoking  with  incense. 

When  the  procession  arrived  at  one  of  the  reposoirs , it  stopped  $ 
the  congreganistes  and  public  authorities  ranged  themselves  on  both 
sides  of  the  street ; and,  while  the  spectators  fell  on  their  knees, 
the  idol  was  carried  up  the  steps,  and  deposited  in  the  temple  pre- 
pared for  its  reception.  At  the  same  time,  guns  were  fired  from 
the  castle,  and  from  a small  portable  tower  that  accompanied  the 
procession;  and  the  priests  began  to  chant  some  Latin  service 
appointed  for  the  occasion,  with  a multitude  of  genuflexions,  and 
other  marks  of  homage.  When  this  was  concluded,  the  proces- 
sion resumed  its  march,  ushered  by  the  thundering  of  cannon,  the 
ringing  of  bells,  and  the  clang  of  martial  music ; followed  by  the 
military  and  a multitude  of  people,  and  greeted  by  crowds  of 
kneeling  spectators.  The  same  ceremony  was  repeated  in  the 
afternoon  of  the  following  Sunday,  with  this  only  difference, — 
that  the  military  and  civil  authorities  did  not  accompany  it. 


THE  FETE-DIEU. 


143 


Tt**.*  conversation  of  the  little  circle,  after  their  afternoon  ser- 
vice, naturally  turned  on  the  events  of  the  morning,  and  Miss 
Gordon  again  accused  Emily  of  severity  in  the  remarks  she  made 
on  the  subject. 

“ You  say  the  Catholics  worship  saints  and  images,”  said  she, 
“ though  even  they  themselves  deny  the  imputation ; but,  even 
supposing  you  were  right  in  that  instance,  I do  not  see  how  you 
can  call  their  worship  of  the  host  idolatry.  They  really  believe 
it  to  be  God,  and  I certainly  think  they  have  strong  reasons  on 
their  side ; for  did  not  our  Saviour  say,  4 This  is  my  body  ? ’ ” 

“ Yes,  my  dear  Miss  Gordon,  but  have  you  never  observed,  how 
very  generally  our  Lord  expressed  himself  in  figures  and  meta- 
phors ? Did  he  not  call  himself  ‘ the  Door,’  ‘ the  Way,’  ‘the  Viner/ 

* the  Light,’  and  a great  many  other  things  equally  allegorical  1 
Yet  you  would  never  think  of  interpreting  literally  any  of  these 
expressions.  When  the  Saviour  instituted  the  sacrament,  His 
body  had  not  yet  been  broken,  nor  His  blood  shed.  This  has  al- 
ways been  one  of  the  most  distinguishing  points  of  difference,  be- 
tween the  Popish  and  Reformed  churches ; and  it  is  one  for  which 
an  innumerable  company  of  martyrs  have  died.  Only  think  of 
the  revolting  abuses  to  which  the  dogma  of  transubstantiation 
leads  ; and,  also,  of  the  awful  blasphemy  of  saying  that  a wafer, 
made  by  human  hands, 4 contains  the  body , bloody  soul , and  divinity , 
of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ.’  ” 

A universal  shudder  seemed  to  creep  over  the  little  party ; but 
Miss  Gordon  angrily  replied, 

“ I know  all  that,  Miss  Mortimer,  as  well  as  yourself;  but  why 
should  you  condemn  the  poor  people  for  it  ? They  are  not  al- 
lowed to  read  the  Bible,  and,  therefore,  cannot  know  that  it  is 
wrong.” 

“ Far  be  it  from  me  to  condemn,”  replied  Emily  ; “ it  is  to  God 
they  will  have  to  answer,  for  surrendering  their  reason,  and  their 
conscience,  to  the  guidance  of  sinners  like  themselves.  But,  while 
we  pity  the  poor  deluded  people,  and  shudder  at  the  fearful  guilt 
incurred  by  the  priests,  it  surely  becomes  us  to  maintain  the  truth 
of  our  scriptural  belief,  and  be  grateful  that  we  are  delivered  from 
the  thraldom  of  so  antichristian  a church.” 

Fanny  Gordon  only  answered  by  a sneer,  and,  their  time  being 
expired,  the  little  party  broke  up. 

The  same  evening,  all  the  ladies  of  the  congregation  assembled 
in  the  cathedral,  in  order  to  perform  what  is  called  “ Vamende 
honorable ,”  in  other  words,  to  make  a public  confession,  not  only 
of  their  own  sins  but  those  of  all  the  town  and  neighborhood. 
Mademoiselle  d’Alby,  one  of  the  ladies  who  gave  lessons  in  the 
school,  politely  offered  to  take  the  English  pupils  to  witness  the 
ceremony,  and  they  accordingly  accompanied  her.  She  belonged 
to  the  congregation,  and,  as  soon  as  she  had  seated  her  young 


144 


THE  FETE-DIEU. 


charges  advantageously,  she  left  them  to  join  her  companions,  in 
the  large  space  railed  in  before  the  principal  altar.  The  service 
began  with  chanting  Latin,  after  which  the  confession  which  was 
very  general  and  solemn,  was  pronounced  by  the  cure  in  French, 
and  repeated  aloud  by  all  the  congreganistes.  There  was  some- 
thing exceedingly  interesting  and  picturesque,  in  the  appearance 
of  these  young  ladies,  as  they  knelt  before  the  altar,  in  their  uni 
form  white  dresses,  and  long  flowing  veils : and  the  effect  was 
heightened  to  enchantment,  when,  at  the  conclusion,  they  sang  a 
hymn,  in  which  the  touching  sweetness  of  their  voices  blended, 
in  richest  melody,  with  the  majestic  peals  of  the  organ.  Emily 
could  not  wonder  at  the  tears  of  emotion  which  she  saw  trembling 
in  the  eyes  of  several  of  her  companions,  nor  at  the  pale  cheek 
and  averted  eyes  of  Caroline  ; her  own  feelings  were  strongly  ex- 
cited, and  she  could  not  help  fearing  the  influence,  which  these 
fascinating  appeals  to  the  senses  must  exercise  over  the  ardent 
imagination  of  youth. 

A dreadful  suspicion  had  lately  forced  itself  on  her  mind ; — she 
could  not  avoid  admitting,  however  unwillingly,  that  Caroline’s 
conduct  evinced  a growing  partiality  for  everything  French,  and 
a leaning  to  the  doctrines  and  observances  of  Popery.  She  had 
long  watched  her  with  anxious  solicitude,  and  had  sought  her 
confidence  ip  vain.  The  reserve  in  which  she  had  intrenched 
herself  had  wounded  and  repelled  Emily,  and,  though  she  longed 
to  know  the  cause  of  her  dejection,  and  to  comfort  her  in  the 
struggles  she  evidently  endured,  she  had  found  it  impossible  to 
engage  her  in  conversation,  respecting  the  cause  of  her  grief.  And, 
besides  all  this,  Caroline  was  now  so  completely  absorbed  by  hei 
friendship  for  Sophia  Dorville,  that  the  cousins  saw  but  little  of  each 
other.  The  uneasiness  produced  by  these  concurring  circumstan- 
ces preyed  deeply  on  the  mind  of  Emily ; but  she  comforted  her- 
self with  the  reflection,  that  in  a few  weeks  their  year  of  trial  would 
terminate,  and  her  father  or  uncle  would  come  to  re-conduct  them 
to  the  shores  of  Protestant  England,  where  the  spells  of  Popery 
would,  she  trusted,  be  broken,  and  the  sweet  confidence  of  sisterly 
affection  once  more  established  between  them. 

That  evening  the  young  ladies  were  allowed  to  walk  in  the 
garden  till  supper-time,  and  Emily  availed  herself  of  the  oppor- 
tunity, to  enjoy  a ramble  with  her  friend  Rose.  She  had  observed 
of  late,  that  a shade  of  reserve  was  gradually  stealing  over  the 
freedom  of  their  intercourse,  and  she  wished  to  inquire  the  cause 
of  Rose’s  altered  manner;  for  she  feared  that  she  might  have 
taken  offence,  at  a rebuke  which  she  had  given  her  about  a week 
before.  Efnily  had  often  been  shocked,  as  every  reflecting  person 
must  be,  at  the  profanation  of  sacred  terms,  and  the  irreverent  use 

the  name  of  God,  so  awfully  prevalent  among  the  Roman  Catho- 
lics. She  was  delighted  to  perceive  that  the  piety  and  good 


THE  FETE-DltiU. 


145 


feeling  of  Rose  generally  preserved  her  from  the  contagion ; but 
one  day,  being  very  much  provoked  by  the  malicious  persecutions 
of  Clementine  Vermont,  she  was  inadvertently  betrayed  into  ut- 
tering the  customary  ‘ mon  Dieu!  ’ so  deplorably  common  in  the 
school. 

Emily,  who  was  present,  instantly  laid  her  hand  on  her  arm,  and 
repeated,  in  a low  but  emphatic  voice,  the  third  commandment : 
'‘Thou  shalt  not  take  the  name  of  the  Lord  thy  God  in  vain  ; for  the 
Lord  will  not  hold  him  guiltless  that  taketh  his  name  in  vain.” 
Rose  started  at  the  words,  and,  at  first,  attempted  to  defend  herself, 
by  alleging  that  she  had  used  the  expression  as  an  ejaculatory 
prayer ; Emily,  however,  remonstrated  on  the  sinfulness  of  trifling 
with  so  sacred  a name,  and  the  irreverence  with  which  it  is  gen- 
erally used ; and  Rose  at  length  acknowledged  herself  in  the 
wrong,  and  promised  to  avoid  a repetition  of  the  offence. 

This  evening,  however,  somewhat  to  the  surprise  of  Emily  she 
recurred  to  the  subject. 

“ I have  consulted  my  confessor  about  it,”  said  she,  “ and  repeat- 
ed to  him  what  you  said  to  me  ; and  his  opinion  is,  that  the  cus- 
tom is  a bad  one, — that  it  is  very  wrong,  but  not  sinful” 

“ Dear  Rose,”  replied  Emily,  “ can  you  explain  to  me  the  differ- 
ence between  what  is  wrong,  and  what  is  sinful  ? For  I own  I 
cannot  perceive  the  distinction,  in  matters  that  relate  to  God  and 
religion.”  * 

“ There  is  a great  difference,  no  doubt,”  rejoined  Rose,  “ though 
I am  not  equal  to  discussing  the  subject ; it  is  my  duty  to  submit 
on  all  such  points  to  the  opinion  of  my  spiritual  director.” 

“ But,  my  dear  friend,  does  not  the  scripture  declare  that  what- 
soever is  not  of  faith  is  sin 

“Excuse  me,  my  dear  Miss  Mortimer,  we  must  not  speak  of 
these  things,  and  you  will,  therefore,  allow  me  to  request,  that 
the  subject  may  be  dropped.” 

Emily  was  silent,  and  a considerable  pause  in  the  conversation 
ensued,  for  her  mind  was  occupied  with  indignant  and  sorrowful 
reflections,  on  the  duplicity  of  the  priest,  and  the  melancholy  sub- 
jection of  her  friend’s  mind  to  his  dangerous  influence.  At  length 
Rose  resumed, — 

“ Have  you  heard  the  sad  account  of  poor  Therese  Beaulieu’s 
danger  ?” 

“ No,  I did  not  know  that  her  illness  was  considered  serious. 
Is  she  in  much  danger  V\ 

“ I fear  so  ; and  what  makes  her  case  more  painfu  Is,  that  her 
own  imprudence  seems  to  have  been  the  cause ; and  some  persons 
are  severe  enough  to  consider  her  complaint  as  a judgment  from 
heaven. 

“ How  so,  dear  Rose  1 pray,  explain  yourself.  ” 

“ You  know  that  Therese  was  voute  au  blanc ; that  is,  during  & 

la 


146 


THE  FETE-DIEU. 


dangerous  illness  with  which  she  was  afflicted,  hei  parents,  an* 
ions  to  secure  the  blessed  Virgin’s  intercession  in  her  favor,  lairf 
her  under  a vow,  in  case  of  her  recovery,  not  to  wrear  any  colors  but 
white  and  blue,  for  the  space  of  three  years.  This  engagement  she 
strictly  observed  till  last  month,  when,  being  at  home,  she  was  invited 
to  a large  party.  It  only  wanted  two  or  three  days  to  the  end  of 
the  stipulated  three  years,  and  she  was  unfortunately  tempted  to 
anticipate  their  completion,  by  wearing  some  article  of  forbidden 
color.  She  caught  a severe  cold  in  returning  home,  and  it  has 
brought  on  a return  of  her  former  complaint,  which  I am  sorry  to 
hear  threatens  to  prove  fatal.  Poor  Therese  ! I pity  her  sincerely, 
for  she  is  a very  good  and  amiable  girl.” 

“ And  can  you  believe,  Rose,  that  her  illness  is  sent  by  heaven, 
as  a punishment  for  wearing  a dress  of  any  particular  color 
“ I should  be  very  sorry  indeed  to  think  so  ; but  I dare  not  form 
any  opinion  on  so  difficult  a subject.” 

Before  Emily  could  reply,  Rose  left  her  to  speak  to  Madame 
d’Elfort,  and,  as  she  did  not  return  to  her  again,  Emily  joined 
Louisa,  Lydia  and  Helen,  and  walked  with  them  till  the  supper 
bell  summoned  them  back  to  the  house. 

Therese  Beaulieu  was  a tall,  fair  and  slender  girl,  of  sixteen, 
whose  delicate  appearance  and  transparent  complexion  betrayed 
a constitutional  tendency  to  consumption,  and  seemed  to  mark  her 
for  the  victim  of  early  death.  Emily’s  attention  had  been  first 
drawn  to  her,  by  the  circumstance  of  her  never  wearing  anything 
but  white  and  blue,  and  by  the  effect  of  these  colors,  in  making 
her  extreme  paleness  appear  still  more  striking.  She  had  been 
told  the  reason,  and  had  often  pitied  the  poor  girl,  whose  life  was 
thus  supposed  to  be  preserved  by  the  efficacy  of  a superstitious 
vow.  She  had  long  been  a boarder  at  Madame  d’Elfort’s ; but,  as 
her  parents  resided  near  the  town,  she  frequently  spent  a few  days 
with  them.  It  was  during  one  of  those  visits,  that  an  invitation 
to  a gay  party  had  led  her  to  act  on  the  supposition,  that  a few 
days  more  or  less^  could  not  make  much  difference  in  the  fulfil- 
ment of  her  vow,  and  that  the  Virgin  would  not  be  very  strict  in 
taking  account  of  the  time.  It  was  not  surprising,  that,  in  the 
precarious  state  of  her  health,  an  exposure  to  the  night  air,  after 
the  fatigue  and  heat  of  dancing,  should  have  been  productive  of  a 
severe  cold,  which  had  subsequently  settled  on  her  lungs  ; yet  she 
was  now  the  theme  of  conversation  to  the  whole  school  and  neigh- 
borhood, as  having  brought  on  herself  the  judgment  of  heaven,  as 
a punishment  for  her  broken  vow. 

To  Emily’s  frequent  inquiries  about  Therese,  the  constant  an- 
swer was,  that  her  disorder  was  rapidly  increasing,  and  in  a few 
days  her  recovery  was  declared  hopeless.  Her  approaching  death 
was  announced  by  Madame  d’Elfort  to  her  pupils,  and  threw  a 
•hilling  gloom  over  eveiy  heart. 


THE  FETE-DIEU. 


147 


“ My  dear  children,”  said  that  lady,  “ I am  happy  to  inform  you 
that  she  bears  her  sufferings  like  an  angel,  and  prepares  for  death 
like  a saint.  Such,  indeed,  is  the  tenderness  of  her  conscience, 
that  it  made  her  at  first  very  miserable.  She  had,  somehow,  per- 
suaded herself  that  she  was  very  sinful,  and  had  a great  deal  to  re- 
pent of.  She  wept  bitterly  for  a long  time,  and  refused  to  be  com- 
forted, calling  herself  a poor  miserable  sinner,  and  saying  that  no 
one  needed  a Saviour  more  than  she  did.  Her  friends  were  very 
much  distressed  at  these  gloomy  fancies,  for  none  knew  so  well  as 
they  the  virtues  of  the  interesting  sufferer.  In  vain  did  they  as- 
sure her  that  she  had  always  been,  even  from  her  infancy,  a duti- 
ful daughter,  an  affectionate  sister,  and  exemplary  in  the  discharge 
of  every  relative,  social,  and  Christian  duty ; she  still  wept,  and 
accused  herself,  and  it  was  not  until  her  confessor  had  joined  with 
her  parents,  in  assuring  her  she  had  nothing  to  fear,  that  her  consci- 
ence was  tranquillized,  and  her  mind  restored  to  composure.  I have 
seen  her  to-day,  and  can  testify  that  her  humility  is  truly  edifying.” 
At  the  conclusion  of  this  speech,  the  eyes  of  Emily  and  Lydia 
met,  in  a glance  that  seemed  to  speak  volumes.  Emily  looked  at 
Rose,  and  perceived  that  she  was  struggling  to  repress  her  tears  ; 
but,  as  she  hurried  into  the  garden,  they  flowed  in  unrestrained 
abundance.  Emily  followed,  and  drew  her  arm  through  hers. 

“My  dearest  Rose,  you  are  unhappy  ! will  you  allow  me  to  share 
your  grief  ?” 

“ Dear,  kind  Emily,  I thank  you  ; but  I can  only  sadden  your 
heart,  and  you  can  impart  no  consolation  to  mine.  Madame  d’- 
Elfort’s  account  of  poor  Tehrese  has  been  like  a dagger  to  my 
soul.  It  has  brought  before  me  that  awful  moment,  when  I,  too, 
shall  stand  on  the  brink  of  eternity ! and  oh,  Emily,  what  shall  I 
do,  when  my  sins  thus  rise  up  in  fearful  array  before  me  ? No 
one  can  have  more  heart-sins  to  repent  of  than  I have ; and  I 
feel,  deeply  feel,  that  I have  no  merit  or  righteousness  to  counter- 
balance them  or  sustain  my  sinking  heart,  in  the  prospect  of  ap- 
pearing before  a holy  God.” 

Emily  pressed  the  hand  of  the  sobbing  girl,  and,  in  a voice  al- 
most inarticulate  from  emotion,  exclaimed, 

“ ‘ The  blood  of  Jesus  Christ  cleanseth  from  all  sin  ; ’ my  dear, 
dear  Rose,  can  you  not  trust  to  that  ? ” 

The  soft  eyes  of  Rose  were  for  a moment  riveted  on  her  friend’s 
countenance,  with  an  earnestness,  an  intensity  of  attention,  that 
almost  startled  her.  Her  very  soul  seemed  rising  to  her  lips  ; but, 
on  a sudden,  the  glow  of  emotion  was  succeeded  by  the  paleness 
of  death ; she  checked,  with  a painful  effort,  the  words  that  were 
struggling  for  utterance;  and,  pressing  one  hand  on  her  heart, 
while  the  other  covered  her  eyes,  she  hurried  into  the  house,  as 
if  she  were  afraid  to  trust  herself  any  longer  in  Emily’s  society. 
Emily’s  eyes  followed  her  with  mournful  interest,  and  then  r# 


148 


THE  FETE-DIEU. 


m lined  fixed  on  the  ground,  till  she  was  aroused  from  her  reverie 
1 y the  approach  of  Lydia.  Her  face  was  flushed,  and  her  eye* 
spaikled  with  indignation. 

“Oh!  Emily,”  she  cried, “what  do  you  think  of  these  wicked 
priests'?  How  can  they  thus  wilfully  deceive  a poor  creature  at 
the  point  of  death  ? Bid  you  not  hear  Madame  d’Elfort  say,  that 
the  confessor  had  joined  in  persuading  poor  Therese  that  her  virtues 
would  save  her  ? Oh ! how  dreadful  it  is  to  trust  in  such  men  ! ” 

“ It  is,  indeed,  my  love,  an  awful  delusion,  they  would  force  on 
the  poor  girl,  for  ‘by  the  deeds  of  the  law  shall  no  flesh  be  justi- 
fied ; 5 but  it  is,  unfortunately,  in  strict  accordance  with  the  doc* 
trines  of  their  church.” 

“But,  Emily,  they  must  know  better;  they  cannot  be  in  igno- 
rance, like  the  people  they  deceive  ; for  they  are  at  liberty  to  read 
the  Bible,  and,  therefore,  cannot  but  see  that  what  they  teach  is 
directly  contrary  to  the  Word  of  God.  And  oh ! how  cruel,  how 
barbarous,  to  deceive  at  such  an  awful  moment ! I met  the  abbe 
Mery  just  now,  going  up  stairs  with  Madame  d’Elfort,  and  he 
spoke  to  me  in  his  usual  soft,  insinuating  tone,  but  I felt  so  angry 
with  him  and  his  whole  fraternity,  that  I could  scarcely  be  civil 
to  him  ; and,  when  he  had  passed  me,  I felt  very  much  inclined  to 
tell  him  that  he  was  an  unfeeling,  unprincipled  deceiver.” 

“ Oh ! it  is  indeed  an  awful  and  cruel  thing,  to  endeavor  thus  to 
crush  the  salutary  convictions  of*  sin,  which  the  Holy  Spirit  mer- 
cifully imparts,  and  to  hurry  the  soul  blindfold  to  the  brink  of 
eternity ; but  I hope  and  trust  that  the  ‘ God  of  all  grace  ’ will  have 
compassion  on  the  intended  victim,  and  by  his  Almighty  power 
foil  the  machinations  of  her  spiritual  enemies.  Let  us  pray 
for  her,  my  dear  Lydia,  that  ‘ the  prey  may  be  taken  from  the 
mighty.’  ” 

A few  days  glided  sadly  away,  and  Therese  Beaulieu  was  no 
more.  Her  dissolution  was  announced  by  Madame  d’Elfort,  with 
the  additional  information,  that  “ she  died  like  a saint ; ” and  this 
was  all  that  Emily  could  learn,  on  a subject  which  deeply  and  pain- 
fully interested  her  feelings.  All  the  Roman  Catholic  pupils  at- 
tended her  funeral;  she  was  buried  in  the  church-yard  of  the  vil- 
lage where  her  father’s  property  was  situated  ; flowers  were 
strewn  on  her  tomb,  and  her  virtues  recorded  on  the  marble.  An 
involuntary  gloom  rested  on  the  school  for  a few  days ; Madame 
d’Elfort  took  advantage  of  it,  to  give  occasional  lectures  on  the 
necessity  of  paying  the  utmost  attention  to  the  duties  of  religion 
and  morality ; but  the  tide  of  every-day  occupations,  pleasures, 
and  pursuits,  soon  rolled  over  the  faint  impression  produced  by 
the  death  of  a school-fellow  ; and,  in  a short  time,  Therese  Beau- 
lieu was  almost  forgotten. 

So  dies  in  human  hearts  tho  thought  of  death, 

E’en  with  the  tender  tear  which  nature  sheds 
O’er  those  we  love ; — we  drop  it  in  their  grave 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


TRAITS  OF  CHARACTER. 

Judge  not,  that  ye  be  not  judged;  for,  with  what  judgment  ye  judge,  ye 
shall  be  judged,  and  with  what  measure  ye  mete,  it  shall  be  measured  to 
you  again. — Matt.  vii.  1,  2. 

There  was  one  English  girl,  lately  arrived  in  the  school,  whose 
manners,  from  the  first,  made  her  the  object  of  general  dislike. 
She  had  resided  in  France  from  her  earliest  childhood,  and  had 
naturally  imbibed  much  of  the  French  character;  so  much  so, 
indeed,  that  she  frequently  expressed  the  utmost  contempt  for  the 
English,  and  would  scarcely  acknowledge  herself  a native  of 
England.  This  conduct,  as  may  be  supposed,  prejudiced  all  the 
English  against  her;  but,  to  Emily’s  surprise,  it  seemed  to  pro- 
cure her  but  little  favor,  even  among  the  French  girls.  Their  na- 
tional feeling  of  patriotism  led  them  to  despise  a person,  who 
spoke  thus  slightingly  of  her  native  country;  and,  as  Miss  Leslie 
had  not  embraced  the  Popish  religion,  there  was  no  sympathy 
existing  on  that  subject,  to  counterbalance  the  impression  pro- 
duced by  her  unpopular  expressions.  Thus,  she  was  disliked  by 
one  party,  and  avoided  by  the  other,  and  soon  found  herself  an 
isolated  being,  acknowledged  as  belonging  to  neither. 

A few  there  were,  indeed,  among  the  English,  who  pitied  the 
poor  girl,  and  were  convinced  that  her  eccentricities  arose  en- 
tirely from  a defective  education.  Emily  and  one  or  two  others 
resolved,  from  the  first,  to  be  kind  to  her ; and  they  were  soon  re- 
paid by  her  grateful  affection,  and  a visible  improvement  in  her 
mind  and  manners.  Maria  Leslie  was  a girl  of  considerable  abili- 
ties, and  very  warm  feelings ; but  she  had  been  spoiled  by  a 
French  education,  and  the  mismanagement  of  a mother  who  did 
not  understand  her  character.  There  was  an  originality  about 
her,  which  led  her  into  a thousand  errors,  and  made  her  commit 
a thousand  absurdities ; but  her  mind  only  required  direction, 
and  might  easily  have  been  guided  into  such  paths  as  would,  un- 
der the  Divine  blessing,  have  made  her  both  a shining  and  a 
useful  character.  But,  alas  ! she  was  left  to  wander  in  wild  dis- 
order, like  a star  that  has  lost  its  orbit. 

She  was  considerably  mortified,  by  the  contempt  she  experi- 
enced from  everyone  around  her;  and,  when  Emily  explained 
the  cause  of  it,  and  reasoned  with  her  on  the  foolishness  and  im- 
propriety of  her  conduct,  she  professed  herself  convinced,  and 
expressed  her  resolution  to  adopt  a more  rational  line  of  proceed- 
ing. This  promise  she  fulfilled,  as  far  as  her  habitual  eccentri- 
cities would  allow  her ; but  the  mischief  was  done,  and  could  not 
13* 


150 


TRAITS  OF  CHARACTER. 


easily  be  repaired,  even  by  her  partial  reformation.  She  could 
never  hope  to  be  a favorite  with  any  one  ; and  the  prejudice  she 
had  herself  excited  continually  displayed  itself,  in  the  conduct 
pursued  towards  her,  as  well  by  the  teachers  as  the  pupils.  Her 
actions  were  always  construed  with  more  severity  than  those  of 
any  other,  and  her  faults  generally  visited  with  heavier  punish- 
ment. This,  indeed,  was  chiefly  owing  to  the  extremely  unfa- 
vorable character  given  of  her  to  Madame  d’Elfort  by  her  mother, 
who,  being  unable  to  manage  her,  had  sent  her  to  school,  with  a 
request  that  she  might  be  watched  with  monastic  strictness,  and 
treated  with  unbending  severity.  Emily  felt  that  this  exposure 
of  her  faults  reflected  more  disgrace  on  the  mother,  than  it  did  on 
the  daughter;  but  she  was  almost  the  only  one  who  had  the  can- 
dor to  perceive  that  poor  Maria’s  defects  were  really  not  such  as 
could,  at  all  justify  the  account  given  of  her. 

Such,  indeed,  was  the  impression  produced  to  her  disadvantage, 
in  the  minds  of  the  heads  of  the  establishment,  that  Madame 
d’Elfort  told  Emily,  the  first  S-unday  after  her  arrival,  that  she 
felt  some  hesitation  in  sending  her  to  chapel  with  the  others. 

“ Do  me  the  favor,  my  dear  young  friend,”  added  that  lady,  “ to 
cast  an  observing  look  at  her  now  and  then,  during  the  services 
of  your  church,  and  to  tell  me  candidly,  when  you  return,  how 
she  has  behaved.  I can  trust  implicitly  to  your  piety  and  good 
sense  for  an  opinion  ; and  if  this  unhappy  girl  is  guilty  of  any  in- 
decorous behavior,  I shall  not  suffer  her  to  attend  again.” 

Emily  felt  the  task  thus  laid  upon  her  an  unpleasant  one,  and 
could  not  altogether  repress  a certain  degree  of  apprehension, 
with  regard  to  the  conduct  of  a girl  entrusted  to  her  care  under 
such  unfavorable  auspices.  Her  attention  was,  during  the  service, 
so  fearfully  bent  on  Miss  Leslie,  that  she  found  it  impossible  to  lis- 
ten to  either  the  prayers  or  the  sermon  with  anything  like  devo- 
tion ; but  she  was  agreeably  reassured  by  the  quiet  and  unoffend- 
ing demeanor  of  the  poor  girl.  When  several  Sundays  had  passed 
in  this  manner,  and  she  was  still  enabled  to  give  a favorable  ac- 
count of  her  conduct  to  Madame  d’Elfort,  she  ventured  to  express 
her  conviction,  that  Mrs.  Leslie  had  greatly  exaggerated  her 
daughter’s  faults ; but  the  governess  shook  her  head,  and  Emily 
saw  that  it  was  impossible,  at  least  for  the  present,  to  lessen  the 
prejudice  that  existed  against  her  protegee. , as  Miss  Leslie  was 
frequently  called  in  the  school. 

Perhaps  a better  description  cannot  be  given,  either  of  her  cha- 
racter, or  of  the  extreme  severity  with  which  her  actions  were 
judged,  than  by  relating  the  following  little  incidents. 

Maria  had  been  deficient  in  her  lessons  one  Saturday  afternoon, 
and  the'penalty  of  her  disobedience  was  a prohibition  against  her 
attending  public  worship  the  next  day.  The  English  girls  were 
astonished  and  alarmed  at  this  punishment,  for  it  was  one  which 


TRAITS  OF  CHARACTER. 


151 


had  never  yet  been  inflicted  on  any  pupil.  Emily  attempted  to 
remonstrate  with  Madame  d’Elfort ; but  she  was  inflexible,  and 
alleged,  as  her  reason,  that  she  was  convinced  this  privation 
would  be  a greater  mortification  to  Miss  Leslie,  than  any  other 
she  could  condemn  her  to.  Emily  was,  therefore,  obliged  to  give 
up  the  point ; and  poor  Maria  had  a long  task,  of  several  pages  in 
her  French  grammar,  given  her  first  to  copy  three . times  over, 
and  then  to  commit  to  memory,  before  the  French  girls  and 
teachers  returned  from  Mass. 

The  Protestants  departed,  and  their  conversation,  during  the 
walk,  naturally  turned  on  the  new  mode  of  punishment  adopted 
by  Madame  d’Elfort. 

“ It  is  very  shameful,”  said  Anna  Lushington,  with  more  indig- 
nation than  seemed  consistent  with  her  easy,  indolent,  and  good- 
natured  character.  “ But  I am  sure  it  is  not  of  her  own  inven- 
tion ; I feel  almost  certain  that  it  came  first  from  Mademoiselle 
Mornay’s  suggestion.” 

u What  makes  you  think  so  ?”  inquired  Emily. 

“ Madame  d’Elfort’s  general  character  and  conduct,”  replied 
Anna.  “ She  is  too  devote  herself,  and  attaches  too  much  import- 
ance to  the  performance  of  every  religious  duty,  to  wish  to  throw 
any  impediment  in  the  way  of  our  doing  the  same.  But  does  not 
that  disagreeable  Mornay  always  do  everything  she  can  to  inter- 
fere with  our  religion  ?” 

“That  is  true,”  said  Emily,  “but  even  Madame  d’Elfort,  kind 
and  comparatively  liberal  as  she  is,  cannot  have  many  scruples  on 
the  subject ; for,  as  she  believes  us  to  be  under  the  influence  of 
the  most  dangerous  heresy,  her  conscience  is  more  likely  to  ap- 
prove than  condemn  any  hindrance,  which  does  not  amount  to  a 
positive  breach  of  her  promised  non-interference.” 

“ Oh ! yes,”  observed  Lydia,  “ and  that,  I suppose,  is  the  reason 
why  we  are  always  prevented  from  going  to  church  whenever  a 
cloud  in  the  sky,  a little  wind,  or  any  other  pretext,  can  be  found 
for  detaining  us  at  school.  This  is  not  the  system  she  pursues 
for  herself,  nor  would  she  suffer  the  French  to  stay  away  from 
their  chureh  for  such  trifling  causes ; for  I heard  her  once  tell 
you,  Emily,  that  she  would  take  them  to  mass  even  if  it  were 
raining  stones  from  heaven.” 

u It  is  a matter  of  conscience  with  Madame  d’Elfort,”  observed 
Caroline  ; “ for  her  religion  teaches  her  that  it  is  a deadly  sin  to 
absent  one’s  self  from  public  worship,  for  any  other  cause  than 
illness,  or  some  very  serious  obstacle.” 

“ They  are  very  conscientious  in  the  discharge  of  religious  du- 
ties,” remarked  Eliza  Kaimes,  an  interesting  girl  of  thirteen  ; “ I 
saw  Madame  d’Elfort,  last  winter,  take  the  French  girls  to  mass, 
at  six  o’clock,  on  a dreadfully  inclement  morning,  when  the  snow 
was  lying  thick  and  deep  on  the  ground.  It  was  piercingly  cold, 


152 


TRAITS  OF  CHARACTER. 


and  so  dark  that  they  were  obliged  to  carry  small  tapeis  in  their 
hands  to  light  them  to  the  cathedral;  and  it  struck  me  then  that 
it  would  be  v.  ell  if  we  were  all  as  zealous  in  the  exercise  of  our 
religion  as  they  are  in  theirs.” 

“ You  are  right,  my  love,”  rejoined  Emily,  “ they  never  once 
neglected  the  morning  mass,  whatever  might  be  the  inclemency 
of  the  weather ; and  their  conduct  in  this,  as  well  as  in  many 
other  particulars,  certainly  holds  out  a most  impressive  lesson  to 
us,  who  are  blessed  with  the  knowledge  of  a purer  faith,  and  the 
possession  of  very  superior  advantages.” 

They  were  now  arrived  at  the  small  English  chapel,  and  the 
conversation  ceased.  On  their  return,  they  did  not  see  Miss  Les- 
lie ; but,  on  Emily’s  retiring  to  her  room,  one  of  the  servants  put 
into  her  hands  the  following  n >te  from  that  young  lady: — 

My  dear  Miss  Mortimer, 

I certainly  fear  that  I am  becoming  a lunatic,  and  my  folly  in- 
volves me  in  numerous  difficulties.  I was  this  morning  spending 
my  time  very  quietly  in  your  room,  reading  a sermon,  and  the 
church  service.  I went  down  to  dinner,  and  was  afterwards  sent 
to  finish  copying  my  grammar,  in  the  school-room  ; but,  before  I 
began,  1 went  to  carry  my  Prayer  Book  and  Bible  from  your  room 
into  the  small  school-room,  where  the  afternoon  prayers  are  gene- 
rally read.  I had  to  pass  through  Miss  Graham’s  chamber,  and 
I observed  a large  blue-covered  book,  which  excited  my  curiosity, 
and  I carried  it  into  the  classe , to  examine  its  title.  Mademoiselle 
St.  Andre  came  in,  and  immediately  conveyed  it  to  Madame  d’El- 
fort ; and  now  I am  locked  up  for  the  rest  of  the  day,  because 
they  say  I had  no  right  to  touch  the  book,  and  that  perhaps  I in- 
tended to  steal  it,  though  I am  sure  I never  had  any  such  design. 
I do  think  the  devil  is  constantly  at  my  elbow,  to  lead  me  to  do 
evil ; but  I wish  he  could  have  the  goodness  to  let  me  alone.  I am 
*ully  convinced  how  very  wrong  I am,  but  I may  say  an  irresisti- 
ble fate  lures  me  to  my  destruction.  Oh ! my  dear  Miss  Morti- 
mer, when  shall  I adhere  firmly  to  my  resolutions,  and  become 
pious,  virtuous,  amiable,  and  accomplished?  I fear  never!  for 
now  often  do  I form  good  resolutions,  and  the  next  day  they  are 
vanished.  I certainly  am  chaff, — only  fit  to  be  burned.  Adieu, 
my  dear  Miss  Mortimer  ; be  assured  of  the  gratitude  of  your  af- 
fectionate Maria  Leslie. 

P.  S.  By  my  own  fault,  I have  most  probably  incurred  the  dis- 
pleasure and  dislike  of  Miss  Graham.  How  bitter  to  think  I 
have  deserved  it  all ! Will  you  tell  1 er  I am  sensible  of  this,  and 
that  I solicit  her  forgiveness  « 

Emil/  was  grieved  on  reading  this  strange,  wild  epistle,  to  find 
that  the  thoughtless  writer  had  involved  herself  in  fresh  disgrace 


TRAITS  OF  CHARACTER. 


153 


with  Madame  d’Elfort ; though  she  could  see  nothing  very  crimi- 
nal in  the  fault  of  which  she  had  been  guilty.  It  was  evident 
that  an  insurmountable  prejudice  existed  against  her  ; and,  as  it 
would  have  been  useless  to  attempt  any  mitigation  of  her  sen- 
tence, poor  Miss  Leslie  remained  in  close  confinement  the  whole 
of  the  day. 

The  next  Sunday,  soon  after  their  return  from  chapel,  several 
of  the  English  girls  ran  up  to  Emily,  to  entreat  her  intercession 
in  favor  of  the  same  unfortunate  young  lady. 

“ She  has  fallen  into  greater  disgrace  than  even  last  Sunday/ 
said  Lydia.  “ She  and  one  of  the  English  day-scholars  had,  some 
how,  got  possession  of  one  of  those  little  pictures  which  the 
French  call  images , and  which  are  given  to  the  younger  children, 
as  rewards  for  learning  the  popish  catechism.  It  represented  Sain* 
Theresa,  with  a cross  in  her  hand,  a glory  round  her  head,  and  a 
number  of  angels  clustering  around  her.  The  two  girls  amused 
themselves  with  laughing  at  it,  and  the  day-scholar  suggested 
that  they  should  write  something  on  the  back  of  it.  Maria  Les- 
lie, who  is  ever  ready  to  do  anything  foolish,  instantly  caught  at 
the  idea,  and  wrote,  4 St.  Theresa,  you  are  as  much  a saint  as  I 
am.’  And  to  this  she  had  the  madness  to  sign  her  name,  and 
then  left  it  somewhere  in  the  school-room.  Mademoiselle  St. 
Andre  has  just  found  it,  and  you  may  imagine  what  a rage  she  is 
in.  She  has  sent  the  culprit  to  her  room,  and  declares,  in  spite 
of  all  our  entreaties,  that  she  will  put  the  picture  into  Madame 
d’Elfort’s  hands,  the  moment  she  returns  from  church.  You  may 
guess  that  the  result  will  be  some  dreadful  punishment  ; but  it  is 
not  so  much  for  her  we  care,  for  she  deserves  it,  and  her  thought- 
lessness is  enough  to  put  any  one  out  of  patience ; but  we  know 
that  the  mischief  will  not  stop  there.  It  will  create  a prejudice, 
in  Madame  d’Elfort’s  mind,  against  us  all ; and  we  shall  be  ex- 
posed to  more  taunts  and  vexations  than  ever  from  the  Roman 
Catholics.  Do,  Emily,  go  down  and  try  to  soften  Mademoiselle 
St.  Andre,  or  Miss  Leslie’s  offence  will  be  visited  upon  us  all,  by 
the  loss  of  some  of  our  privileges.” 

“ Maria  has,  indeed,  acted  wrong,”  replied  Emily,  “for  she  had 
no  right  to  cast  insult  on  the  religion  of  those  with  whom 
she  resides,  and  if  we  wish  the  Romanists  not  to  interfere  with 
our  faith,  we  must  remember  that  it  is  our  duty  to  show  the  same 
forbearance  towards  theirs.  I am  very  loth  to  ask  any  favor  of 
Mademoiselle  St.  Andre,  for  I know  she  dislikes  me  ; but  I will 
endeavor  to  forget  self,  and  see  if  I can  persuade  her  not  to  men- 
tion the  circumstance  to  Madame  d’Elfort” 

She  was,  however,  completely  unsuccessful  in  this  attempt; 
the  teacher  was,  perhaps,  not  sorry  to  have  an  opportunity  of 
mortifying  her ; and  she  declared  that  her  conscience  would  not 
allow  of  her  passing  over  so  great  an  insult  in  silence.  The  ut- 


154 


TRAITS  OF  CHARACTER. 


most  consternation  now  reigned  among  the  English ; but  tlieii 
hopes  were  somewhat  revived  by  the  entrance  of  Madame  d’Ar- 
blay.  To  this  indulgent  lady  Emily  immediately  represented  the 
case,  acknowledging  the  impropriety  of  Miss  Leslie’s  conduct, 
but  entreating  her  intercession,  to  avert  the  consequences  of  Ma- 
dame d’Elfort’s  displeasure.  Madame  d’Arblay  was,  at  first,  ex- 
tremely indignant : but  at  length  she  consented  to  speak  to  Ma- 
demoiselle St.  Andre.  She  requested  her  silence  on  the  subject, 
as  a personal  favor  to  herself,  and,  as  the  teacher  could  not  resist 
this  plea,  she  reluctantly  promised  to  spare  Miss  Leslie,  on  con- 
dition that  she  should  write  twelve  French  verbs,  a3  a punish- 
ment for  her  offence. 

The  thoughtlessness  of  Maria  Leslie  that  very  evening  drew 
upon  her  a severe  reprimand  from  Madame  d’Elfort,  for  having 
left  her  Bible  in  the  dining-room.  That  lady  took  occasion,  from 
this  circumstance,  to  inform  her  Protestant  pupils,  that  as  seve- 
ral of  the  French  young  ladies  were  learning  English,  she  should 
consider  those  guilty  of  a serious  offence  who  should  leave  their 
English  Bibles  within  reach  of  any  of  them.  French  Bibles  be- 
ing strictly  prohibited  in  the  house,  she  had  no  fear  of  their  read- 
ing such. 

But  poor  Maria’s  heedlessness  was  almost  incorrigible.  She  was 
in  possession  of  a copy  of  Miss  Kennedy’s  beautiful  tale,  entitled 
“ Father  Clement.”  Of  this  book  she  was  extremely  fond,  and  so 
indeed  were  all  the  other  English  girls.  It  was  a great  favorite  with 
every  one,  and  Emily  felt  thankful  that  it  had  been  introduced  into 
the  school ; for  she  believed  that  its  striking  exposure  of  Popish 
errors  had,  under  the  divine  blessing,  greatly  contributed  to  di- 
minish their  influence  on  the  minds  of  her  school-fellows.  This 
cherished  book  had  hitherto  been  guarded,  with  the  most  jealous 
care,  from  the  prying  curiosity  of  the  French  ; but  Maria  care- 
lessly left  hers  in  the  salon , and  Mademoiselle  Mornay  seized  it. 
It  was  conveyed  to  Madame  d’Elfort,  who  did  not  think  proper  to 
make  any  public  observations  on  the  subject,  but  the  book  never 
re-appeared  5 and  the  other  girls  carefully  locked  up  theirs  for 
safety. 

They  were  returning  from  a walk,  a few  days  after  this,  when 
they  met  another  party  of  the  scholars,  who  had  gone  to  church 
with  Madame  d’Elfort.  To  Emily’s  surprise,  they  passed  each 
other  without  speaking,  or  the  slightest  mark  of  recognition. 
Emily  was  going  to  address  Rose,  who  glided  past  her  with  her 
eyes  bent  on  the  ground,  when  her  arm  was  forcibly  pulled  by 
Anna  Lushington,  who,  at  the  same  time,  placed  her  hand  on  her 
lips.  As  soon  as  the  two  parties  had  thus  silently  passed  each 
other,  Anna  exclaimed  in  a whisper, 

M What  could  you  be  thinking  of,  Emily  l You  have  been  very 
near  exposing  yourself  to  a tremendous  reprimand,  and  tempting 


TRAITS  OF  CHARACTER.  155 

f>oor  Rose  to  commit  a great  sin.  Do  you  not  see  that  they  are 
performing  stations  ?n 

“ I don’t  know  what  you  mean,  Anna ; pray  explain  yourself.” 

“ What ! you  don’t  know  what  stations  are  ? Then  I must  tell 
you,  that  you  may  not  commit  the  same  blunder  again.  The 
young  ladies  are  under  a vow,  or  engagement,  to  repeat  a certain 
number  of  prayers  at  every  church  in  the  town,  and  other  places 
specified.  These  are  called  stations , and  they  are  bound  not  to 
utter  a single  word  between  each.  Now,  then,  you  see  the  mo- 
tive of  their  silence,  and  what  a dreadful  crime  it  would  have 
been  to  interrupt  it.” 

“ I do  ; — but,  dear  Anna,  does  not  this  remind  you  of  the  Phari- 
sees, whom  our  Lord  .condemned,  because  they  1 loved  to  pray 
standing  in  the  synagogues,  and  in  the  corners  of  the  streets,  that 
they  might  be  seen  of  men  V ” 

Anna  smiled  at  the  question,  without  answering  it,  and  with 
an  expressive  shrug  of  her  graceful  shoulders,  fell  back  among 
Ver  companions. 

They  had  now  reached  the  public  place , or  square  of  the  town, 
when  suddenly  a procession  of  priests  appeared,  carrying  the  host 
with  its  accustomed  pomp.  An  immediate  halt  was  made,  and 
the  teachers,  with  the  few  Roman  Catholics  in  the  party,  instantly 
fell  on  their  knees.  The  English  remained  standing  behind  them, 
and  Emily  suddenly  felt  her  hand  grasped  by  some  one.  It  was 
little  Eliza  Kaimes,  whose  pale  cheek,  and  trembling  limbs,  be- 
trayed a state  of  great  nervous  agitation.  “ Oh ! save  me,  save 
me,  dear  Miss  Mortimer !”  she  whispered.  “ That  tyrannical 
Miss  Mornay  has  been  trying  to  make  me  kneel,  i happened  to 
fee  near  her,  and  she  pulled  my  frock  so  hard,  that  she  almost 
dragged  me  down  on  my  knees.  I was  so  frightened,  that  I could 
scarcely  resist  j but  I determined  not  to  be  guilty  of  idolatry,  and 
I have  at  last  succeeded  in  forcibly  breaking  from  her,  and  run- 
ning to  you  for  protection.” 

Emily  pressed  the  child’s  hand,  and  bade  her  be  silent  while 
the  procession  passed.  When  it  had  disappeared,  Eliza  expressed 
her  fears,  that  Mademoiselle  Mornay  would  punish  her  for  diso- 
bedience ; but  Emily  reassured  her,  by  the  promise  of  pleading 
her  cause  with  Madame  d’Elfort,  if  such  should  be  the  case. 
Mademoiselle  Mornay,  however,  knew  full  well  that  her  superior 
would  not  sanction  any  arbitrary  exercise  of  power,  on  such  an 
occasion ; and,  having  failed  to  enforce  obedience  by  a coup  da 
maw,  she  wisely  let  the  subject  drop  into  oblivion. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 


THE  ENGLISH  TEACHER. 

One  sinner  destroyeth  much  good.— Eccixa.  ix.  18. 

There  were  now  about  twenty  English  girls  in  the  school,  and 
another  addition  was  made  to  their  number,  in  the  person  of  a 
little  girl,  six  years  old,  the  daughter  of  a distressed  English  fam- 
ily for  whom  a contribution  had  been  made  among  their  country- 
men, some  time  before.  The  benevolent  abbe  Mery,  who  had 
already  done  much  for  them,  now  carried  his  generosity  still 
farther,  by  taking  on  himself  the  care  of  this  child,  and  placing 
her  with  Madame  d’Elfort  for  her  education. 

As  the  protegee  of  a Roman  Catholic  priest,  little  Fanny  Wil- 
son was  re-baptized  in  the  cathedral  (her  former  baptism  being 
considered  of  no  value  whatever),  and  the  name  of  Mary  added  to 
her  own,  in  order  to  place  her  under  the  protection  of  the  Virgin. 
She  was,  of  course,  immediately  initiated  into  all  the  rites  and 
observances  of  the  Romish  church,  and  made  to  learn  its  cate- 
chism, preparatory  to  her  being  introduced  to  auricular  con- 
fession. 

This  catechism  was  regularly  recited,  and  commented  upon, 
once  or  twice  every  week,  in  the  school-room ; and,  though  the 
English  girls  were,  of  course,  exempted  from  the  necessity  of 
learning  it,  yet  care  was  taken  that  they  should  not  lose  the  ad- 
vantage of  hearing  all  its  doctrines.  The  time  selected  was  in  the 
afternoon,  when  all  the  pupils  were  seated  at  their  needle-work, 
and  when  the  silence  in  the  school-room  was  so  profound,  that 
not  one  word  was  lost.  The  different  questions  and  answers 
were  explained  with  great  care,  and  often  enlarged  upon,  in  a 
manner  which,  it  was  supposed,  must  triumph  over  all  objections, 
so  that  the  Protestant  pupils,  from  this  constant  repetition,  gradu- 
ally became  almost  as  familiar  with  Popish  doctrines  as  the  Ro- 
man Catholics  themselves,  and  many  of  them  insensibly  fell  into 
the  habit  of  considering  them  as  true,  and  occasic  nally  referring 
to  them  as  undoubted  authority.  The  pernicious  effects  of  this 
artful  snare  were  also  increased  by  a short  lecture,  which  was 
read  in  the  school-room  every  evening,  while  the  young  ladies 
were  eating  the  bread  and  butter  which  was  brought  them  as  a 
collation , instead  of  tea,  as  the  French  are  not  in  the  habit  of  taking 
that  meal.  The  books  chosen  for  this  puipose  were  always  the 
lives  of  Popish  saints,  with  all  their  miracles  and  absurdities,  or 
treatises  on  the  tenets  of  their  church,  with  exhortations  to  the 
performance  of  the  works  it  enjoins. 

It  was  something  new,  and  by  no  means  agreeable  to  our  Eng 


THE  ENGLISH  TEACHER. 


157 


lish  girls,  to  see  one  of  their  own  country  in  the  house;  conform- 
ing, in  every  respect,  to  the  rules  of  the  Romish  church.  They 
pitied  the  poor  little  creature,  who  was  thus  given  up  as  an  offer- 
ing to  an  antichristian  faith,  though  they  could  not  blame  the 
venerable  abbe  whose  adoption  of  her  displayed  at  once  his  bene- 
volence and  his  zeal. 

A circumstance  now  occurred,  which  seemed  likely  to  exercise 
no  little  influence  on  the  affairs  of  the  English  pupils.  This  was 
the  departure  of  Miss  Parker,  the  English  teacher.  This  lady  had 
never  taken  any  interest  in  the  welfare  of  her  young  country- 
women, and,  never  having  seemed  to  belong  to  them,  was  but 
little,  if  at  all,  regretted  by  any  of  them.  But  a lively  feeling  of 
anxiety  was  excited,  by  the  expectation  of  her  successor;  and, 
when  the  new  teacher  appeared,  all  eyes  were  directed  towards 
her.  Miss  Bradford’s  appearance  and  manners  were  not  very 
prepossessing;  but  Madame  d’Elfort  congratulated  her  English 
pupils,  on  their  having  now  a teacher  who  would  herself  conduct 
them  to  church,  and  attend  to  their  spiritual  interests.  Many  an 
inquiring  glance  was  directed  towards  Miss  Bradford,  at  these 
words  ; but  she  had  not  been  many  days  in  the  house,  ere  it  was 
but  too  evident,  that  her  principles  and  con  luct  were  not  such,  as 
would  be  likely  to  promote  the  spiritual  welfare  of  the  young 
people  committed  to  her  charge.  She  knew  nothing  of  vital  reli- 
gion, and  was  even  lamentably  indifferent  about  its  outward 
forms.  Emily  saw  that  her  example  would  be  even  more  injuri- 
ous than  that  of  Miss  Parker,  and  she  wept  with  painful  appre- 
hension, at  the  evils  which  thus  seemed  thickening  around  this 
little  flock  in  the  wilderness. 

Mrs.  Anderson,  the  respectable  woman  who  had  hitherto 
escorted  them  to  church,  was  now  dismissed,  and  Miss  Bradford 
marshalled  her  charge  for  divine  service,  on  the  following  Sunday 
morning.  But,  alas ! there  was  no  devotion,  no  seriousness,  and 
very  little  decorum,  visible  in  her  demeanor.  She  sat  with  her 
back  to  the  minister,  and,  instead  of  kneeling,  or  even  reading  the 
church-service,  employed  herself  in  observing  and  criticising  the 
dress,  appearance,  and  manners,  of  the  congregation.  This  con- 
duct, it  may  be  easily  imagined,  had  the  most  pernicious  effect  on 
that  of  several  of  the  young  ladies,  more  particularly  the  younger 
ones.  Mrs.  Anderson  had  always  been  strict,  in  enforcing  the 
utmost  decency  of  behavior,  and  in  this  she  had  been  greatly  as- 
sisted by  the  example  and  influence  of  Emily  and  her  friends  ; 
and  so  great  had  been  the  success  which  attended  their  endeav- 
ors, that  the  school  had  frequently  been  commended  for  the  pro- 
priety of  its  conduct,  by  the  minister  and  leading  members  of  the 
congregation.  But,  alas  ! this  beautiful  picture  was  too  soon  re- 
versed. The  younger  children  now  felt  themselves  authorized  to 
be  as  inattentive  as  they  pleased,  and  too  many  of  the  elder  ones 


158 


THE  ENGLISH  TEACTiER. 


indulged  their  natural  inclinations,  by  imitating  the  example  of 
their  teacher.  And  to  so  deplorable  a height  did  this  growing 
evil  rise,  that  novels  were  sometimes  read  in  the  church,  and  a 
silent  intercourse  carried  on  by  looks  and  signs,  with  some 
thoughtless  young  men  of  the  congregation.  It  was  in  vain  that 
Emily,  and  her  more  serious  companions,  remonstrated  with 
these  giddy  girls  ; Emily’s  influence  was  now  completely  super- 
seded. by  the  authority  and  example  of  the  teacher.  She,  at  length, 
felt  it  her  duty  to  entreat  Miss  Bradford's  interference.  That 
lady  either  felt,  or  affected,  surprise  at  what  was  evidently  the 
consequence  of  her  own  inattention.  She  certainly  had  no  desire 
that  matters  should  be  carried  so  far,  and  she  angrily  reprimanded 
the  culprits  for  their  breach  of  decorum,  positively  declaring,  that 
a repetition  of  such  conduct  should  be  reported  to  Madame  d’El- 
fort.  But,  as  she  neither  altered  her  own  behavior,  nor  exercised 
more  watchfulness  over  that  of  the  others,  the  same  evils  con- 
tinued to  exist,  though  they  were  now  accompanied  with  rathei 
more  caution. 

Oh!  how  did  the  hearts  of  the  serious  little  party  mourn  ovej 
this  fearful  change,  which,  like  a desolating  pestilence,  had  thus- 
withered  the  moral  beauty  of  their  once  promising  garden ! And 
these  painful  feelings  were  not  less  excited,  by  the  melancholy 
change  in  their  formerly  delightful  afternoon  services.  Emily  had* 
as  a matter  of  course,  resigned  the  direction  of  these  to  Mis» 
Bradford;  and  they  were  now  carried  on  in  a manner  that  was 
shocking  to  every  serious  and  correct  feeling.  The  evening 
prayers  were  indeed  read,  but  with  so  little  of  even  the  appear 
ance  of  devotion,  that  they  were  finished  in  half  the  time  they 
ought  to  have  occupied.  The  New  Testament  was  then  read, 
but  in  so  hasty  and  irreverent  a manner,  that  five  or  six  chapters 
were  hurried  over  in  a quarter  of  an  hour;  and  then,  to  finish  the 
hour  appointed  for  their  service,  the  Church  Catechism  was  re- 
peated, with  the  same  revolting  disregard  to  its  importance.  No 
more  questions  asked,  or  answers  given  on  the  solemn  subjects 
connected  with  their  reading;  no  more  serious  and  interesting 
conversation,  on  the  sacred  truths  of  the  gospel;  no  more  of  the 
sweet  intercourse  that  made  religion  pleasant,  or  the  beautiful 
hymns  that  threw  a hallowed  charm  over  those  once  happy 
meetings.  Miss  Bradford  was  an  avowed  enemy  to  everything 
serious;  she  reprobated  it  as  hypocrisy,  and  ridiculed  it  under 
the  hackneyed  name  of  Methodism. 

The  link  that  bound  the  English  together  seemed  now,  in  a 
great  measure,  broken ; they  were  no  longer  like  an  affectionate 
sisterhood,  endeared  to  each  other  by  a community  of  feelings, 
interests,  and  pursuits.  A few,  indeed,  still  remained  faithful  to 
their  principles,  and  among  this  number  were  (besides  the  cous 
ins)  Helen  Douglas,  Louisa  Selwyn,  and  Eliza  Kaimes  ; nay, 


THE  ENGLISH  TEACHER. 


159 


their  affection  for  each  other,  and  attachment  tc  their  former 
privileges,  increased  in  proportion  to  the  coldness,  indifference, 
and  estrangement,  of  others.  But  sad  indeed  was  the  change, 
which  a few  weeks  of  Miss  Bradford’s  rule  produced  on  the  once 
quiet,  orderly,  and  serious  circle.  It  brought  into  full  exercise 
every  evil  propensity  of  the  carnal  mind,  which  had  before  been, 
in  a great  degree,  awed  into  subjection  by  the  authority  tacitly 
accorded  to  Emily  j and  many  a thoughtless  girl,  who  had  hith- 
erto, partly  from  shame,  and  partly  from  the  silent  influence  of 
good  example,  preserved  a tolerably  correct  demeanor,  now  felt 
authorized  to  shake  off  these  disagreeable  restraints,  and  to  follow 
a path  more  congenial  to  her  natural  inclinations.  Their  mis- 
behavior, during  the  Sunday  afternoon  prayers,  was  at  length 
carried  so  far,  as  to  annoy  even  Miss  Bradford,  and  rouse  her  to 
utter  reprimands  which  were  only  laughed  at,  and  threats  of  com- 
plaining to  Madame  d’Elfort,  which,  as  she  never  executed  them, 
were  equally  disregarded. 

This  contempt  of  her  authority  excited  her  utmost  indignation, 
and  she  loudly  declared,  that  the  young  ladies  were  the  worst 
behaved  and  most  troublesome  pupils  she  had  ever  known,  com- 
plaining, at  the  same  time,  that  they  made  her  life  miserable.  On 
this  occasion,  Emily  attempted  to  convince  her,  that  the  evil 
arose  chiefly  from  the  defects  of  her  system.  She  assured  her 
that  if  they  read  but  one  chapter,  and  did  it  in  a more  deliberate 
and  serious  manner,  it  would  be  far  more  likely  to  produce  a 
beneficial  effect  on  their  minds ; that  their  attention  might  be 
fixed  and  their  feelings  interested,  by  simple  questions,  or  familiar 
explanations,  introduced  in  the  way  of  conversation.  She  alluded 
to  the  favorable  results  of  this  practice,  as  existing  before  Miss 
Bradford’s  arrival ; and  though  she  was  careful  not  to  say  any- 
thing which  could  imply  a censure  of  the  teacher’s  conduct,  she 
endeavored  to  excite  an  interest  in  the  welfare  of  the  children, 
which,  she  hoped,  might,  with  the  divine  blessing,  be  productive 
of  a gradual  improvement  in  Miss  Bradford’s  views  and  feelings. 
But  she  soon  found  that,  in  venturing  thus  to  advise,  she  had 
reckoned  too  confidently  on  that  lady’s  good  sense  and  candor. 
Miss  Bradford  at  first  ridiculed  her  suggestions  ; and,  when  Emi- 
ly’s anxiety  led  her  to  press  the  subject  still  more  closely  on  her 
attention,  she  was  offended  at  what  she  called  her  interference, 
and  declared  she  would  not  be  dictated  to.  Emily,  therefore,  was 
compelled  to  abandon  all  hope  of  improvement  in  the  system,  and 
bitterly  did  she  weep  over  the  sad  change  which  had  thus  taken 
place. 

Nor  was  she  the  only  one  who  lamented  the  present  state  of 
things.  All  the  more  reflecting  girls  were  shocked  at  this  want 
of  common  decorum,  in  the  performance  of  every  religious  duty, 
and  acknowledged,  that  their  feelings  revolted  against  the  heart- 


160 


THE  ENGLISH  TEACHER. 


less  indifference  of  Miss  Bradford.  To  such  a height,  indeed,  was 
this  apathy  carried,  that  the  Sunday,  which  had  formerly  been 
the  most  delightful  day  of  the  week,  the  green  oasis  in  the  wilder- 
ness, to  which  many  an  eye  was  turned  "with  longing  expectation, 
was  now  become  a day  of  the  most  painful  interest  to  some,  and 
of  no  interest  at  all  to  others.  Emily’s  feelings  of  sorrow  were  so 
acute,  that  she  was  glad  to  fly  from  a scene  she  could  not  bear, 
by  accepting  the  kind  invitation  of  some  English  friends  in  town, 
and  spending  the  Sunday  at  their  house.  Caroline  and  Lydia 
accompanied  her,  and  happy  indeed  did  they  esteem  themselves, 
in  being  thus  favored  with  an  opportunity  of  enjoying  a quiet  and 
Sabbath-like  afternoon. 

Major  and  Mrs.  Fortescue  were  amiable,  excellent,  and  serious 
people,  and  their  extreme  kindness  to  the  cousins  excited  their 
liveliest  gratitude.  Their  house  had  ever  been  a pleasant  resort 
to  them,  but  now  it  was  an  ark  of  refuge,  from  the  overwhelming 
feelings  of  regret  for  past  enjoyments,  and  disgust  at  the  want  of 
everything  like  devotion,  in  the  hallowred  services  they  had  so 
long  looked  forward  to  with  reverence  and  delight. 

They  had  thus  absented  themselves  for  two  or  three  Sundays, 
when  several  young  ladies  of  their  former  circle  complained  loudly 
of  their  desertion. 

“ Indeed,  indeed,  Miss  Mortimer,”  said  Helen  Douglas,  “ it  is 
scarcely  kind  of  you  to  leave  us  thus.  We  wander  about  the 
house,  like  discontented  ghosts,  not  knowing  what  to  do  with  our- 
selves. We  have  no  friend  to  direct  us  now,  to  comfort  us  in  our 
troubles,  or  to  warn  us  against  the  snares  and  dangers  that  sur- 
round us.  I know  it  must  be  painful  for  you  to  remain ; but  your 
presence  and  counsel  might  counteract  some  of  the  evils  to  which 
we  are  exposed,  and  help  us  to  guard  against  the  treachery  of  our 
own  hearts. 

“ Dear  Helen,  perhaps  you  are  right,  but  it  is  very  distressing 
to  witness  the  desecration  of  the  Sunday  afternoon.” 

“ It  is  indeed, ,r said  Louisa,  with  a deep  sigh;  uand  yet  I assure 
you,  you  have  not  seen  the  worst  of  it.” 

“ Oh ! no,”  observed  Rosa  Maxwell,  an  amiable  and  well-dis- 
posed young  lady,  who  was  a recently  arrived  parlor  boarder, 
“ you  can  scarcely  form  an  idea  of  what  the  scene  was  yesterday. 
It  was  quite  enough  to  shock  and  disgust  any  reflecting  mind. 
Miss  Bradford  was,  if  possible,  more  reckless  than  ever,  and  the 
children  were  dreadful  troublesome.  Agnes  Beverley  and  Char- 
lotte Barton  burst  into  repeated  fits  of  laughter,  during  the  reading; 
and  Fanny  Gordon,  Anna  Lushington,  and  several  others,  who, 
from  their  age,  ought  to  have  behaved  better,  were  not  a w'hit 
more  attentive.  Amelia  Cooper  and  Mary  Hyde  had  a long  les- 
son of  geography  to  copy  for  this  morning,  and  they  persuaded 
Miss  Bradford  to  let  them  write  it,  instead  of  joining  in  tin 


THE  COUNTRY  PARTY. 


161 


prayers.  We  read  the  whole  of  the  two  epistles  to  the  Thessalo- 
nians,  in  about  twenty  minutes ; Miss  Bradford  then  asked,  if  we 
would  repeat  the  Catechism  ; the  majority  consented,  but  Maria 
Lushington,  and  several  others,  when  it  came  to  their  turns,  re- 
fused, without  alleging  any  other  reason  than  that  it  was  not  their 
pleasure  to  repeat  it.  Such  behavior  1 never  saw,  and  Miss  Brad- 
ford, instead  of  being  provoked,  merely  shrugged  her  shoulders, 
and  said,  ‘ Do  as  you  like  !’  I could  not  help  saying  to  her,  that  1 
thought  she  ought  to  tell  Madame  d’Elfort  how  ill  they  behaved  ; 
and  what  do  you  suppose  was  her  answer  ? 4 I will  tell  her,  Miss 
Maxwell,  if  they  behave  ill  again ; but  as  to  their  religious  in- 
struction, it  is  no  affair  of  mine.  I am  not  paid  for  teaching  them 
religion,  nor  did  I engage  to  do  it.  If  they  attend  to  their  religious 
duties,  so  much  the  better : but  if  they  will  not,  they  may  do  as 
they  please.’  ” 

“Oh!  Miss  Mortimer!”  exclaimed  Eliza  Kaimes,  “ when  will 
those  happy  Sundays  return,  that  we  used  to  spend  with  you  ? 
Miss  Bradford  calls  you  a hypocrite  and  a meddler,  but  she  does 
not  care  for  our  souls,  as  you  do.  But,  pray,  do  not  leave  us 
again  so  forlorn  and  disconsolate ; for  it  is  some  comfort  to  have 
you  near  to  speak  to.” 

Emily  could  only  weep,  and  press  the  dear  girl  in  her  arms ; 
she  thought  of  these  helpless  sheep  in  the  wilderness,  and  ear- 
nestly prayed  the  Great  Shepherd  to  have  compassion  on  them. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE  COUNTRY  PARTY. 

Call  upon  me  in  the  day  of  trouble ; I will  deliver  thee,  and  thou  shall  glorify 
me. — Psalm  1.  15. 

Madame  d’Elfort  had  long  promised  her  young  ladies  the 
pleasure  of  a pic-nic  party,  and  was  only  waiting  for  a fine  holi- 
day, to  fulfil  her  promise.  The  following  Thursday  was  now  fix- 
ed upon  for  that  purpose,  and  many  were  the  wishes  for  favorable 
weather  on  that  important  occasion.  The  young  people,  with 
that  eagerness  of  anticipation  peculiar  to  their  age,  could  scarcely 
talk,  or  even  think,  of  anything  else  for  more  than  a week  before- 
hand, and  the  eve  of  the  long-wished-for  day  was  employed  in 


162 


THE  COUNTRY  PARTY. 


numerous  little  preparations,  and  numberless  conjectures  on  the 
probable  state  of  the  atmosphere  on  the  morrow.  The  opinions  were 
various  ; but  two  or  three  of  the  French  girls  positively  affirmed  that 
the  weather  would  be  delightful,  and,  on  being  asked  to  give  their 
reasons  for  this  assertion,  replied,  that  they  had,  for  the  last  three 
days,  repeated  three  Aoe  Marias  and  three  Pater  Nosters , in  order  to 
obtain  that  favor  from  the  Virgin.  A general  smile  was  visible  on 
the  countenances  of  the  English,  as  they  listened  to  this  declaration; 
but  Lydia  observed  to  Emily,  that  she  thought  this  instance  of  mis- 
taken devotion  ought  to  remind  them  of  the  apostle's  injunction 
— ” In  everything,  by  prayer  and  supplication,  with  thanksgiving 
let  your  requests  be  made  known  unto  God  ! ” 

Emily  assented,  and  the  conversation  then  turned  on  the  death 
of  a priest,  which  had  taken  place  in  the  morning.  He  was  to  be 
buried  the  next  day  and  was  then  lying  in  state,  dressed  in  his 
splendid  sacerdotal  costume,  with  a crucifix  in  one  hand,  and  a 
mass  book  in  the  other,  as  if  he  were  just  going  to  celebrate  that 
pompous  rite  of  the  Romish  church.  Mademoiselle  St.  Andre 
had  promised  to  take  a few  of  the  young  ladies  to  witness  the 
sight,  and  Rose  de  Liancourt  now  invited  Emily  to  join  them. 
This,  however,  she  declined  ; for,  to  her  apprehension,  there  was 
something  horrible  and  revolting,  in  the  idea  of  thus  decking  out 
a corpse  in  the  habiliments  and  attributes  of  the  living.  Caro- 
line, however,  went,  and  so  did  a few  others  of  the  English,  who, 
on  their  return,  related  that  the  dead  body  was  placed  in  a sitting 
posture,  and  that  Caroline  had  been  so  shocked  at  the  sight, 
that  she  had  nearly  fainted.  Emily  immediately  went  up  to  her ; 
but  she  was  in  close  conversation  with  Sophia  Dorville,  and  with 
a sinking  heart,  the  friend  of  her  childhood  retreated  from  the 
room. 

The  next  morning  arose  with  unclouded  splendor,  and  the  tri 
umphant  looks  of  the  French  devotees  seemed  to  appeal  to  the 
success  of  their  paters  and  ayes,  as  an  undeniable  proof  of  the  truth 
of  their  religion.  All  was  bustle  and  joyful  preparation  in  the  house 
The  scene  of  their  expected  enjoyment  was  the  estate*of  a noble- 
man, about  four  leagues  from  the  town,  and  remarkable  for  its 
picturesque  views,  and  beautiful  woods  and  pleasure-grounds. 
Their  mode  of  conveyance  consisted  of  five  light  vans,  called  chars • 
a-banc , furnished  with  stuffed  seats  for  the  convenience  of  travel 
lers,  and  driven  by  four  men  and  one  woman,  of  no  very  prepos- 
sessing appearance. 

The  whole  party  set  out  about  nine  o’clock,  as  they  had  to  walk 
to  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  where  they  were  to  take  possession 
of  their  clumsy  vehicles.  They  were  met  on  the  road  by  the 
funeral  procession  of  the  deceased  priest,  which  was  proceeding  to 
the  cathedral.  The  corpse  was  carried  in  an  open  coffin,  with 
the  face  and  hands  uncovered.  Madame  d’Elfort  immediately 


THE  COUNTRY  PARTY. 


163 


stopped,  anu  all  the  Roman  Catholics  joined  her  in  making  the 
sign  of  the  cross,  and  repeating,  in  a low  Voice,  a prayer  for  the 
dead.  The  most  profound  silence  prevailed  among  them,  for  some 
time  after  they  had  lost  sight  of  the  cortege  ; and  before  it  was  in- 
terrupted, their  attention  was  again  attracted  by  another  memento 
of  mortality.  At  the  door  of  a small  house  was  placed  a child’s 
coffin,  and  near  it  stood  a basin  of  holy  water.  Every  Roman 
Catholic,  on  passing  it,  dipped  her  linger  in  the  water,  and,  after 
crossing  herself,  sprinkled  a few  drops  on  the  coffin,  muttering  a 
prayer  at  the  same  time.  A woman,  who  sat  by  the  coffin,  ob- 
serving that  Emily  passed  without  complying  with  this  necessary 
ceremony,  darted  at  her  a look  of  furious  indignation,  and  exclaim- 
ed, “ You  are  not  a well-wisher  to  the  soul  of  the  innocent.”  The 
whole  party  passed  on,  and  soon  arrived  at  the  place  where  the 
chars-a-banc  were  waiting  for  them. 

Their  journey  was  a pleasant  one,  and  they  were  much  delight- 
ed with  the  beautiful  seat  of  the  Marquis  of  C . They  wan- 

dered all  the  morning  through  its  picturesque  grounds,  chased 
each  other  through  the  lovely  solitudes  of  the  wood,  in  all  the 
wild  and  buoyant  enjoyment  of  youthful  liberty,  or  danced  in 
merry  groups  on  the  green,  sloping  lawns.  After  taking  their 
dinner,  seated  on  the  grass,  beneath  the  shade  of  some  beautiful  old 
trees,  Emily,  Lydia,  Helen,  and  Louisa,  fatigued  with  the  morn 
ing’s  exercise,  quietly  wandered  along  the  side  of  the  lake,  and  re 
solved  to  examine  the  immediate  precincts  of  the  chateau , and  the 
little  rural  village  that  surrounded  it.  One  of  the  first  things  that 
struck  them  was  a small  chapel,  belonging  to  the  castle,  at  the 
end  of  an  avenue  of  noble  trees.  Two  statues,  the  one  represent- 
ing a friar,  the  other  a nun,  stood  at  each  side  of  the  entrance. 
Through  a small  window  near  the  door,  they  obtained  a view  of 
the  interior,  which  was  richly  ornamented,  and  the  altar  covered 
with  a profusion  of  silver  candlesticks,  goblets,  and  vases.  There 
were  also  some  beautiful  looking  paintings  ; but  of  these  they 
could  not  judge,  as  a nearer  view  was  denied  them,  the  chapel 
having  been  shut  up,  and  never  used  since  the  death  of  the  Mar- 
chioness,— an  event  which  was  said  to  have  deeply  affected  her 
noble  husband. 

Our  young  friends  now  entered  the  village,  and  resolved  to  ex- 
amine its  small,  antique-looking  church.  In  passing  through  the 
church-yard,  they  were  much  shocked  by  the  sight  of  two  spaces, 
inclosed  on  each  side  of  the  back  door,  and  filled  with  human 
bones,  whitening  in  the  air.  They  turned,  with  an  involuntary 
shudder,  from  these  miniature  charnel-houses,  and  entered  the 
church,  which,  like  all  Roman  Catholic  places  of  worship,  was 
always  open  during  the  day.  Its  interior  was  of  a very  simple 
and  unpretending  character,  with  but  few  attempts  at  ornament, 
and  those  of  the  rudest  kind.  The  friends  sat  down  in  front  of  its 


164 


THE  COUNTRY  PARTY. 


ancient  altar,  and  Lydia  proposed  that  they  should  read  aloud  a 
chapter  from  the  Bible. 

“ These  old  walls,”  she  said,  “ have  never  echoed  to  the  sound 
of  the  gospel ; let  its  sacred  voice  now  be  heard  within  them. 
There  is,  to  me,  something  delightful  in  the  idea.  Do.  Emily, 
lend  me  your  pocket-bible.” 

The  w’hole  party  smiled  at  this  fanciful  suggestion  ; but  it'  was 
not  opposed ; and  Lydia  read  aloud  the  fourth  chapter  of  the  first 
epistle  to  Timothy,  in  which  the  hand  of  inspiration  has  briefly 
sketched  some  of  the  distinguishing  features  of  the  Romish  apos- 
tacy.  She  then  turned  to  the  eighth  of  the  Romans,  and  read  also 
that  beautiful  exposition  of  sacred  truth  and  Christian  privileges. 
Her  auditors  were  rapt  in  silent  awe,  for  there  was  a feeling  of 
melancholy,  yet  elevating  solemnity,  connected  with  the  sound  of 
the  gospel  in  that  spot.  It  struck  on  their  hearts  like  the  voice  of 
an  accusing  witness,  and  painful  was  the  conviction,  that  every 
word  uttered  was  a sentence  of  fearful  condemnation  against  the 
false  and  soul-deluding  religion  whose  idolatrous  rites  wrere  daily 
performed  in  that  place. 

Lydia  finished  her  reading,  and  exclaimed,  as  she  rose  from  hei 
rude  seat, 

“ Well,  Emily,  the  gospel  has  now  been  heard  within  this  an- 
cient pile,  and  heard,  I suppose  for  the  first  time,  in  its  pure  and 
unmixed  simplicity.  What  would  the  village-priest  say,  could  he 
know  what  we  have  been  doing  ? I presume  he  would  think  the 
inquisition  itself  scarcely  sufficient  punishment  for  our  temerity. 
But  the  time  may  come,  when  the  gospel  shall  again  resound,  even 
amidst  these  time-honored  walls.” 

“ And  the  time  will  certainly  come”  replied  Emily,  “when  that 
blessed  gospel  shall  triumph  over  all  the  delusions  of  Popery,  and 
every  other  error ; for 1 the  earth  shall  be  full  of  the  knowledge 
of  the  Lord  as  the  wTaters  cover  the  sea.’  ” 

They  now  left  the  church,  and  rejoined  their  party,  some  of 
whom  were  amusing  themselves  on  the  lawn,  while  others  were 
exploring  the  devious  windings  of  a beautiful  little  labyrinth. 
After  a collation  under  the  trees,  Madame  d’Elfort  assembled  all 
her  company  together,  and  led  them  away  from  the  grounds,  to 
examine  an  ancient  fortification  in  the  neighborhood.  The  chars 
a-bcinc  were  to  take  them  up  at  this  spot;  but  what  was  the  con- 
sternation of  the  governess,  and  the  terror  of  the  pupils,  when  it 
became  but  too  evident  to  every  one  that  the  drivers  were,  withom 
one  single  exception,  in  a state  of  most  alarming  inebriety ! Emi- 
ly had  been  requested,  in  the  morning,  to  take  charge  of  the 
young  ladies  in  her  vehicle;  but  she  now  trembled  at  the  respon- 
sibility of  the  task,  with  a drunken  woman  for  their  charioteer. 

To  add  to  her  agitation,  almost  all  the  English  girls  crowded 
round  her,  tumultuously  declaring  that  they  dreaded  the  danger 


THE  COUNTRY  PARTY. 


165 


of  tlie  journey  with  such  conductors,  and  that  they  would  go  in 
no  vehicle  but  Miss  Mortimer’s.  Emily  felt  that  there  was,  in  fact, 
considerable  hazard  in  the  trajet , for  they  had  to  pass  a narrow 
bridge  over  a river,  with  no  railings  or  parapet  on  either  side  ; it 
was  afready  becoming  dusk,  and  the  night  must  close  in,  long  be- 
fore  they  could  reach  the  town  ; and,  to  add  to  the  danger,  their 
way  lay  across  a part  of  the  sea-shore,  which  was  perfectly  safe 
at  low  water,  but  rendered  peculiarly  perilous  by  the  rapid  and 
violent  return  of  the  tide.  The  passage  might,  indeed,  be  avoided, 
by  taking  a circuitous  route  ; but  their  drivers  were  not  in  a state, 
either  to  judge  of  the  practicability  of  passing  the  water,  or  listen  to 
the  suggestions  of  prudence,  by  taking  the  longest  road.  The  Pro- 
testant girls,  in  their  terror,  clung  to  Emily,  with  that  instinctive 
trust,  which  even  the  most  careless  and  unthinking  always  feel,  in 
one  whom  they  think  more  pious  than  themselves.  They  all 
considered  Emily  as  a Christian, — -a  child  of  God ; and,  though 
some  of  them  might  often  ridicule  her,  as  being  “righteous  over- 
much,” they  considered  themselves  much  safer  with  her,  than  with 
any  one  else.  Thus  it  is  that  the  world  often  pays  an  involuntary 
homage  to  Christian  principle,  and  that  the  “ still  small  voice  ” of 
conscience  bears  an  undeniable  testimony  to  the  blessedness  and 
security  of  the  Christian. 

It  was  impossible,  however,  for  Emily  to  take  all  the  applicants 
into  her  charette ; and  Madame  d’Elfort,  anxious  to  depart,  hurried 
them  into  different  vehicles,  with  an  authority  that  was  not  to  be 
resisted.  By  this  arrangement,  two  French  girls  were  left  to 
Emily,  besides  live  English,  among  whom  were  Lydia,  Helen, 
and  Eliza  Kaimes.  Their  journey  was  anything  but  agreeable, 
owing  to  the  insane  freaks  of  their  female  driver.  Twenty 
times  did  they  see  themselves  on  the  point  of  being  overturned, 
and  the  screams  of  the  terrified  girls  completely  bewildered  Emily. 
She  had  the  greatest  trouble  to  prevent  their  springing  out,  which, 
under  existing  circumstances,  would  have  been  highly  perilous. 
They  had  been  galloping  at  such  a rate,  that  they  were  now  near- 
ly a mile  from  the  rest  of  the  party ; and  Emily,  feeling  thus  un- 
countenanced and  unprotected,  in  a situation  "which  threatened 
every  moment  to  be  productive  of  some  serious  accident,  became 
so  nervous  and  agitated,  that  it  was  only  by  a strong  effort,  accom- 
panied by  fervent  mental  prayer  for  divine  support  and  direction, 
that  she  was  enabled  to  recover  some  degree  of  self-possession. 
In  vain  did  she  speak  to  the  unhappy  woman,  and  entreat  her  to 
moderate  her  speed,  that  the  others  might  rejoin  them  : the  mad- 
ness of  intoxication,  and  the  desire  to  show  the  superiority  of  her 
horse  and  her  driving,  rendered  her  insensible  to  all  remonstrances. 

It  is  needless  to  say,  that  Emil / was  greatly  alarmed,  and  even 
more  so  on  account  of  her  companions  than  herself.  The  terror 
of  some  of  these  poor  girls  amounted  to  agony,  and,  with  the  na- 


166 


THE  COUNTRY  PARTY. 


tural  impulse  of  an  awakened  conscience,  they  had  recourse  to 
calling  upon  God.  Emily,  in  the  midst  of  her  agitation,  could 
not  but  remark  the  volubility  with  which  the  two  French  girls 
were  repeating  their  Latin  orisons.  She  heard  Louisa  Belville 
ask  her  companion,  “ How  many  paters  and  aves  she  had  said  ? 

“ Fourteen  answered  Amelie  de  Brisac.  “ And  I sixteen,”  re- 
joined Louise ; upon  which  they  both  resumed,  with  increased  ra- 
pidity those  “vain  repetitions  ” which  the  God  they  sought  to  pro- 
pitiate has  so  expressly  forbidden.  Emily  thought -of  the  inspired 
declaration  of  Isaiah, — “ Lord,  in  trouble  have  they  visited  thee ; 
they  poured  out  a prayer  when  thy  chastening  was  upon  them.” 
One  or  two  of  the  English  girls  were  also  earnestly,  though  more 
quietly,  engaged  in  repeating  the  Lord’s  Prayer  and  the  Apostles’ 
Creed,  and  seemed  as  unconscious  that  the  latter  was  not  a peti- 
tion, as  the  others  were  that  the  words  they  uttered  in  an  un- 
known tongue  could  not  constitute  prayer.  She  glanced  at 
Helen  and  Lydia  who  sat  on  each  side  of  her.  They  were  pale, 
out  calm,  and  their  upraised  eyes  spoke  of  fervent,  though  silent 
supplication. 

They  now  approached  that  part  of  the  road  which  crossed  the 
narrow  bridge,  and  Emily  could  not  repress  a shudder.  Those 
who  sat  behind  could  not  see  the  dangerous  pass,  owing  to  the 
thars-a-banc  being  covered,  and  the  night  having  already  closed 
in  ; and  an  expressive  glance  from  Emily  told  her  two  friends  that  it 
was  necessary  to  keep  this  knowledge  from  the  others,  who  would 
certainly,  in  the  frenzy  of  their  terror,  have  jumped  out,  in  spite 
of  all  remonstrance ; an  action  which  would,  almost  inevitably, 
have  been  attended  with  dreadful  consequences,  as  they  could 
only  get  out  in  front,  and  the  furious  speed  at  which  they  were 
driven  rendered  such  an  attempt  perilous  to  the  last  degree.  Emi- 
ly laid  her  hand  on  the  arm  of  the  wretched  woman,  and,  in  a low 
voice,  implored  her  to  moderate  her  horse’s  pace,  at  least  till  they 
had  passed  the  bridge.  A wild  laugh,  however,  was  her  only  an- 
swer, and  she  lashed  the  poor  animal,  wTith  frantic  violence,  to  in- 
crease its  speed.  A look  of  unutterable  meaning  was  exchanged 
between  the  three  friends  ; not  a word  was  spoken,  but  their  arms 
were  linked  in  each  other,  with  almost  the  energy  of  a death- 
clasp;  and  not  a breath  was  drawn,  till  they  had  been  whirled, 
with  frightful  rapidity,  but  still  without  any  accident, 'across  the 
dreaded  bridge. 

A mutual  embrace,  mingled  with  tears  of  gratitude  and  rapture, 
was  the  first  expression  of  their  feelings,  at  this  providential  es- 
cape ; but  Emily’s  anxiety  and  agitation  had  been  so  intense,  that 
she  was  now  completely  exhausted,  and  laying  her  head  on  Lydia’s 
shoulder,  to  still  its  agonized  throbbings,  she  closed  her  eyes  in  a 
kind  of  half  swoon. 

In  the  meantime,  the  over-fatigued  horse  had  stopped,  in  spite 


SUNDAY  TRIALS. 


167 


of  his  infuriated  driver,  and  no  blows  could  induce  him  to  proceed. 
This  favorable  circumstance  enabled  the  other  vehicles  to  come 
up  with  them,  and  Madame  d’Elfort’s  uneasiness  was  relieved, 
by  the  assurance  that  they  had  sustained  no  injuiy.  Their 
troubles,  however,  were  not  yet  ended,  for  three  of  the  drivers 
now  began  to  quarrel  and  fight  among  themselves,  and  the  frantic 
woman,  whom  intoxication  had  rendered  more  ungovernable 
than  the  men,  after  disfiguring  with  her  nails  the  face  of  one  an- 
tagonist, in  utter  disregard  of  all  attempts  to  stop  the  fray,  com- 
pleted her  triumph,  as  she  thought,  by  applying  the  whip  to  the 
back  of  her  exhausted  horse,  and  compelling  it  to  resume  its  former 
gallop  with  the  same  insensate  fury.  The  terror  of  the  poor 
gins  was  almost  as  great  as  before  ; but  the  eye  of  a merciful  Provi- 
dence watched  over  their  safety ; and  though  the  wretched  wo- 
man, in  defiance  of  their  renewed  entreaties,  refused  to  take  the 
safe,  circuitous  road,  which  led  to  rhe  gates  of  S , and  dash- 

ed, with  reckless  temerity,  and  in  the  dark,  across  the  dangerous 
beach,  their  alarm  was  dissipated  by  observing  that  the  tide,  though 
rather  higher  than  they  could  have  wished,  was  not  sufficiently 
so  to  impede  their  passage.  The  other  drivers  followed  the  ex- 
ample, and  the  party  at  length  found  themselves  safely  deposited 
at  Madame  d’Elfort's  gate,  after  a day  in  which  enjoyment  had 
been  dearly  paid  for,  by  the  most  intense  anxiety,  and  terror.  Ma- 
dame d’Elfort  was  ill  the  next  day,  from  the  uneasiness  she  had 
endured j and  it  was  some  time  before  Emily  could  recover  from 
the  nervous  excitement,  produced  by  her  over-wrought  feelings. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

SUNDAY  TRIALS. 

If  ye  suffer  for  righteousness’  sake,  happy  are  ye  ; and  be  not  afraid  of  theit 
terror,  neither  be  troubled. — 1 Pktkr  iii.  14. 

Several,  of  the  Roman  Catholic  boarders  were  preparing  to  at- 
tend the  celebration  of  the  Eucharist,  and  Rose,  who  was  among 
the  number,  seemed  now  more  reserved,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
more  dejected,  than  Emily  had  ever  yet  seen  her.  Her  sympathy 
for  this  amiable  girl  was  of  the  tenderest  kind,  and  Rose’s  affection 
for  her  was  in  nowise  diminished ; but  a seal,  a painful  seal  was  on 


168  f SUNDAY  TRIALS. 

the  lips  of  both,  and  their  conversations  insensibly  became  less 
and  less  frequent. 

Emily  was  walking,  in  the  garden,  engaged  in  lonely  musing, 
when  she  found  herself  unexpected  ly  close  to  her  friend,  who  was 
sitting  alone  at  work  in  one  of  the  arbors.  It  was  impossible  not 
to  say  something,  and  she  approached,  and  greeted  her  with  an  af- 
fectionate smile.  Rose  replied  to  it  by  a silent  embrace,  but  her  eyes 
were  full  of  tears.  Emily  did  not  venture  to  inquire  their  cause, 
but,  fixing  her  eyes  on  her  friend’s  work, — a pretty,  simple,  French 
cap,  which  she  was  tastefully  ornamenting  with  white  ribbons, 
she  asked,  without  well  knowing  what  she  said,  for  what  pur- 
pose it  was  intended  ? 

“ To  wear  at  the  holy  communion,”  replied  Rose.  “ I presume 
you  are  aware  that  we  take  off  our  bonnets.” 

“ No,”  replied  Emily, I did  not  know  it;  but  tell  me,  dear  Rose, 
do  you  receive  the  sacrament  as  many  together  as  can  kneel 
around  the  altar,  as  we  Protestants  do,  and  as  the  children  did  at 
the  premiere  communion ; or  is  any  other  arrangement  adopted,  in 
ordinary  cases  ? ” 

“ I cannot  tell  you,  Miss  Mortimer.” 

“ Cannot ! — will  you  allow  me  to  ask  why  ? ” 

“ You  know  we  must  not  converse  on  the  subject  of  religion,” 
observed  Rose,  evidently  doing  violence  to  her  feelings. 

“ But  my  question,  dear  Rose,  relates  only  to  a matter  of  out- 
ward form ; it  was  simply  dictated  by  curiosity,  and  certainly  in- 
volves no  doctrine  of  your  church.” 

“ Perhaps  not,  Emily,  but  I must  not  talk  with  you  on  any  sub- 
ject which  is  connected  with  religion,  even  in  the  remotest  degree. 
I am  forbidden  to  do  so.” 

“ You  astonish  me,  Rose ! from  whom  can  so  unreasonable  a 
prohibition  come  ? ” 

“ Ask  me  no  questions,  I entreat  you,  my  dear,  dear  friend  ; for 
I cannot  answer  them,  and  you  do  not  know  how  painful  it  is  to 
me  to  refuse  you.” 

As  Rose  uttered  these  words,  she  took  up  her  work,  and,  with 
a countenance  expressive  of  the  most  touching  sorrow,  walked 
slowly  away,  and  re-entered  the  house.  Emily,  of  course,  did  not 
attempt  to  follow  her,  but  she  heaved  a bitter  sigh  of  regret  and 
disappointment,  and  mentally  breathed  a prayer  for  her  afflicted 
friend.  It  was  evident  that  Rose’s  conscientious  discharge  of 
whatever  she  had  been  taught  to  consider  a duty,  had  led  her  to 
acquaint  her  confessor  with  every  particular  of  their  friendly  in- 
tercourse, and  every  conversation  which  had  occurred  between 
them;  and  the  priest,  with  the  jealous  circumspection  enjoined  by 
his  principles,  had  thought  it  necessary  to  guard  his  young  charge 
against  danger,  by  exerting  his  authority,  and  restricting  their  in- 
timacy within  the  narrowest  possible  bounds. 


SUNDAY  TRIALS. 


169 


The  next  day  was  the  Sabbath,  and,  to  gratify  her  friends,  Emi- 
ly remained  at  school  d^xtig  the  afternoon ; but  her  spirits  were 
deeply  affected  by  the  total  want  of  even  common  decorum,  in  the 
behavior  of  both  Miss  Bradford  and  too  many  of  her  pupils,  dur- 
ing the  time  allotted  for  their  devotions.  Her  heart  sickened, 
when  she  saw,  in  one  corner  of  the  room,  a group  engaged  in 
study,  while  others  were  struggling  to  keep  their  attention  fixed 
on  the  prayers,  which  every  now  and  then  interrupted  by  the 
scarcely-suppressed  laughter  of  one,  or  the  whispering  observa- 
tions of  another.  It  was  still  worse,  during  the  repetition  of  the 
catechism,  and  Miss  Bradford  at  length  dismissed  the  party  before 
the  expiration  of  the  hour,  with  the  usual  threat  of  informing  Ma- 
dame d’Elfort,  which  was  as  little  regarded  as  before. 

The  young  ladies  descended  to  the  garden,  but  a few  of  them 
gathered  round  Emily,  and  again  expressed  their  regret,  at  the 
painful  change  in  their  once-delightful  Sunday  afternoon  service. 

“ I never  witnessed  anything  so  scandalous,”  observed  Miss 
Maxwell,  with  indignation.  “ I certainly  have  seen  the  French 
girls  look  around  them,  while  running  over  their  unmeaning  repe- 
titions, and  even  listen  to,  and  sometimes  join  in,  the  conversa- 
tion that  was  going  on  in  the  room ; but  I should  never  have  ex- 
pected to  see  Protestants,  who  have  been  taught  that  prayer  is 
something  more  than  counting  beads,  and  repeating  words,  behave 
in  so  a disgraceful  manner.” 

u How  thankful  I am,”  exclaimed  Lydia,  “ that  my  stay  in  this 
place  will  now  be  very  short,  and  that  papa  will  soon  come  to  fetch 
us  away.” 

These  words  were  scarcely  uttered,  when  Lydia  felt  the  pres 
sure  of  a hand  on  her  arm,  and,  turning  round,  she  beheld  the  soft 
hazel  eyes  of  Helen  fixed  on  her  countenance,  with  a look  of  tender 
reproach. 

“ How  can  you  rejoice  at  your  approaching  departure,  dearest 
Lydia,  when  you  know  that  we  shall  then  lose  all  the  Christian 
society  we  are  now  favored  with,  and  shall  then  have  no  one  to 
advise  or  direct  us  in  the  right  path  ? When  you  and  Miss  Mor- 
timer are  gone,  Louisa  will  be  the  only  serious  friend  I shall  have 
here : but  she  is  going  away  in  two  months,  and  then  your  poor 
Helen  will  indeed  be  left  desolate  ! ” 

“ My  beloved  Helen ! ” exclaimed  Lydia,  straining  the  sweet 
girl  to  her  heart,  and  affectionately  kissing  her  tearful  cheek,  “for- 
give me,  I beseech  you,  if  my  joy  appears  selfish ; but  even  you 
cannot  imagine  how  impatiently,  how  passionately  I long  to  leave 
this  detestable  place.  I have  a presentiment, — perhaps  a foolish 
one, — that  some  misfortune  will  result  from  our  residence  here ; 
but  oh ! how  fervently  do  I wish  that  both  you  and  Louisa  could 
lepart  with  us  ! ” 

“ My  dear  Helen,”  said  Emily,  approaching,  and  taking  her  hand* 

14 


170 


SUNDAY  TRIALS. 


“ do  not  forget  that  you  have  in  Jesus  ‘ a friend  that  sticketh  closer 
than  a brother.’  4 He  will  never  leave  you  nor  forsake  you ; * and 
you  may  confidently  rely  upon  His  protection,  His  tenderness,  and 
His  love.” 

Helen  threw  herself  on  Emily’s  neck,  and  wept  silently  and 
bitterly.  Her  heart  was  overwhelmed  with  sorrow,  and  she  could 
not  then  realize  the  comfort  of  the  promise.  But  it  was  now  ne- 
cessary to  separate,  and,  wiping  the  tears  from  her  eyes,  she  re- 
luctantly joined  the  noisy  groups  in  the  garden. 

The  annual  distribution  of  prizes  was  approaching,  and  she  had 
been  selected,  with  several  others,  to  sing  a grand  chorus  on  that 
important  occasion.  Madame  d’Elfort  had  never  yet  heard  it,  and 
she  now  called  them  up,  and  requested  them  to  sing  it  before  her. 
They  obeyed,  and  ranged  themselves  in  a semicircle  round  their 
governess.  Her  quick  eye  however,  soon  perceived  the  absence 
of  one,  and  she  inquired  where  Miss  Douglas  was  ? Helen  had 
kept  her  seat,  at  a little  distance,  but  her  changing  color  betrayed 
the  agitation  of  her  feelings.  She  was  immediately  pointed  out  to 
Madame  d’Elfort,  and  Mademoiselle  St.  Andre  approached,  and 
reiterated  that  lady’s  commands.  Helen,  timid,  confused,  and 
gasping  for  breath,  had  scarce  power  to  answer;  but  the  strong 
feeling  of  duty,  and  the  consciousness  that  she  was  acting  right, 
upheld  her.  She  rose,  and  walked  up  to  Madame  d’Elfort,  who, 
with  a stern  and  displeased  countenance,  commanded  her  to  take 
her  place  among  the  singers.  Poor  Helen’s  courage  nearly  for- 
sook her,  under  that  angry  look  ; but  she  remembered  the  Saviour’s 
awful  denunciation  against  those  who  should  be  ashamed  of  Him, 
and,  at  length,  with  a violent  effort,  addressed  her  governess, 

“ Have  the  goodness,  I beseech  you,  Madame,  to  excuse  me,  for 
I cannot  conscientiously  sing  anything  but  sacred  music  on  the 
Sunday.” 

The  crimson  glow  of  anger  and  offended  dignity  instantly  flush- 
ed the  face  of  Madame  d’Elfort ; her  brow  contracted  into  a terrible 
frown,  and,  with  a majestic  wave  of  her  hand,  she  motioned  Helen 
to  retire.  The  trembling  girl  obeyed,  and  sank,  almost  fainting, 
against  a tree.  The  chorus  was  sung  by  the  other  young  ladies, 
and  commended  by  their  governess  ; but  some  of  the  English  girls 
felt  that  Helen  had  acted  right,  though  they  trembled  for  her,  and 
would  not  have  dared  to  imitate  her  temerity. 

Mesdemoiselles  Mornay  and  St.  Andr6  remained  in  close  con- 
versation with  Madame  d’Elfort,  who  seemed  much  incensed  at 
Helen’s  resistance  ; and  the  latter  was  evidently  desirous  of  irri- 
tating her  against  Emily,  whom  she  represented  as  the  sole  cause 
of  her  opposition  to  her  wishes.  In  this  she  partially  succeeded  ; 
for  Madame  d’Elfort  again  sent  for  the  offender,  and  thus  addressed 
her, — 

“ I shall  not  say,  Mademoiselle  Douglas,  how  much  I have  been 


SUNDAY  TRIALS. 


171 


surprised  at  ycur  disobedience  this  day.  You  have  reason  to  ex- 
pect the  punishment  your  conduct  deserves ; but  you  have  assign- 
ed a scruple  of  conscience  as  your  motive,  and  I respect  the  plea. 
I am  fully  convinced,  however,  that  even  your  religion  does  not 
require  such  singularity  of  conduct, — else,  why  should  not  all 
your  fellow-  Protestants  be  equally  scrupulous  ? I know  by  whose 
influence  it  is,  that  these  false  principles  have  obtained  an  ascend- 
ency over  the  minds  of  several  of  my  pupils;  but  I shall  take  care 
that  such  counsels  be  no  longer  given,  nor  such  interference  again 
take  place.  And  you  may  now  withdraw.” 

Pale,  cold,  and  trembling,  Helen  tottered  from  the  spot,  and  has- 
tened, as  well  as  she  was  able,  to  warn  Emily  of  the  displeasure 
which  she  had  thus  involuntarily  drawn  upon  her.  But  this  in- 
telligence had  already  been  communicated  to  her  by  one  or  two 
of  the  young  ladies,  who  had  contrived  to  slip  away,  as  soon  as 
Madame  d’Elfort’s  tremendous  lecture  was  uttered.  Emily  was 
certainly  not  unmoved  by  the  storm  which  seemed  ready  to  burst 
on  her  head ; but  though  her  governess’s  displeasure  was  a matter 
of  no  trifling  importance,  in  a place  where  everyone  stood  in  awe 
of  her  lightest  word,  she  yet  felt  that  the  God  she  served  would 
assuredly  sustain  her  in  the  trial ; and  her  mind  recurred  with 
confidence  to  that  triumphant  question  of  the  apostle,  “ If  God  be 
for  us,  who  can  be  against  us?”  See  was,  therefore,  enabled  to 
comfort  Helen,  whose  distress  and  agitation  had  found  relief  in 
a flood  of  tears,  and  to  remind  her  of  the  inspired  declaration,  “ If 
ye  be  reproached  for  the  name  of  Christ,  happy  are  ye.” 

But  poor  Helen’s  feelings  had  been  too  highly  excited  to  be 
easily  calmed,  and  a violent  nervous  headache  compelled  her  to 
go  to  bed  immediately.  Eudly's  emotion  was  extreme,  in  the 
prospect  of  the  dreaded  conference  with  Madame  d’Elfort,  and  she 
fancied  every  st'ep  that  approached  the  room  was  hers.  She  had 
recourse  to  prayer,  for  divine  support  in  this  trying  exigency ; but, 
though  she  felt  re-assured,  and  strengthened  with  a renewed  sense 
of  confidence  in  her  heavenly  Father,  she  found  it  impossible  tore- 
press  entirely  the  involuntary  tremors  of  nervous  agitation. 

These  terrors,  however,  were  altogether  superfluous,  for,  when 
Madame  d’Elfort’s  anger  was  cooled  by  reflection,  she  felt  the 
injustice,  as  well  as  impolicy,  of  interfering  with  the  religious 
principles  of  any  of  her  pupils ; and  her  respect  for  consistency 
increased  the  good  opinion  she  had  always  entertained  of  Emily 
and  Helen.  She,  therefore,  met  them  on  the  morrow  with  even 
more  than  her  wonted  kindness  of  manner ; and  the  storm  which 
threatened  their  tranquillity  was  succeeded  by  sunshine. 

But  a cloud  of  deeper  gloom  was  now  about  to  burst  over  the 
heads  of  Emily  and  her  cousins.  A packet  came  from  Mr.  Morti- 
mer, addressed  to  Madame  d’Elfort,  and  enclosing  letters  for  Caro- 
line, Lydia,  and  Emily.  These  epistles  contained  the  melan* 


172 


SUNDAY  TRIALS. 


choly  intelligence  of  the  death  of  Mrs.  Howard,  in  a manner  as 
sudden  as  it  was  distressing.  The  painful  truth  was  communi- 
cated by  Madame  d’Elfort,  with  the  utmost  sympathy  and  tender* 
ness.  But  what  precaution  can  blunt  the  anguish  occasioned  by 
the  loss  of  a mother,— a kind,  affectionate,  invaluable  mother'? 
Lydia’s  grief  was  deep,  intense,  and  lasting ; but  Caroline’s  agony 
completely  overwhelmed  her.  It  brought  on  a fit  of  illness,  from 
which  she  did  not  recover  for  some  weeks.  Emily  suffered  too, 
for  she  had  loved  her  aunt  fondly  and  sincerely;  but  she  was  ena- 
bled to  subdue  her  grief,  and  exerted  herself  with  earnestness  to 
comfort  her  afflicted  cousins.  They  listened,  with  tearful  atten- 
tion, to  the  sweet  voice  of  gospel  consolation ; but,  while  Lydia 
received  it  with  humility  and  thankfulness,  Caroline’s  heart  seem- 
ed closed  against  its  soothing  and  hope-inspiring  accents.  She 
evidently  desired  the  society  of  Sophia  Horville,  more  than  that 
of  her  sister  or  cousin  ; yet  the  gloomy  despondency  of  her  mind 
was  in  nowise  relieved  by  their  frequent  conversations.  At  length, 
however,  she  resumed  her  scholastic  duties,  and  seemed  to  look 
forward  with  pleasure  to  the  arrival  of  her  father,  who  had  an- 
nounced it  as  his  intention  to  spend  some  time  in  France  for  the 
restoration  of  his  health,  which  had  been  much  impaired  by  his 
grief  for  the  loss  of  a beloved  wife,  and  to  bring  with  him  her  two 
younger  sisters,  whom  he  intended  to  place  at  school. 

Major  and  Mrs.  Fortescue,  with  their  usual  kindness,  frequently 
invited  the  cousins  to  their  house,  and  used  every  exertion  to  cheer 
them.  They  were  allowed  to  spend  two  or  three  days  with  these 
estimable  friends  ; and  Mrs.  Fortescue,  thinking  it  would  amuse 
Caroline,  took  them  with  her  to  pay  a visit  to  a convent  in  the 

neighborhood  of  S . It  was  situated  in  the  centre  of  a large 

inclosed  space,  and  approached  by  a large  avenue  of  trees.  They 
entered  a wide  Gothic  porch,  and  pulled  the  string  of  a bell  which 
hung  at  the  side  of  an  inner  door.  There  was  a small  square 
grating  in  that  door,  and  a shutter  which  closed  it  on  the  inside 
being  slipped  back,  the  head  and  veil  of  a nun  appeared,  and  they 
were  asked  their  business.  Mrs.  Fortescue  inquired  for  la  mere 
Sainte  Euphrasie , and  the  portress  then  requested  them  to  enter 
the  parlor  on  the  right  hand.  Tbe  door,  however,  was  shut,  and 
the  young  people  looked  round  for  some  one  to  open  it.  They 
were  not  long  kept  in  suspense ; a spring  was  touched  from  inside, 
and  the  door  flew  open  to  admit  them.  They  entered,  and  seated 
themselves  close  to  a double  iron  grating,  which  divided  the  small 
apartment  into  two  equal  parts.  They  had  not  waited  long,  when 
the  nun  they  asked  for  made  her  appearance  on  the  other  side. 
She  was  a middle-aged  woman,  of  prepossessing  appearance,  and 
the  eyes  of  the  cousins  were  instantly  riveted  upon  her,  with  as 
intense  a gaze  as  politeness  would  allow.  Her  dress  consisted  of 
a very  long  and  full  black  woollen  robe,  confined  at  the  waist  by  a 


SUNDAY  TRIALS. 


173 


leathern  girdle,  a white  apron,  a broad  collar  falling  over  the 
bosom,  and  a close  cap,  from  wThich  a long  black  veil  descended 
even  to  the  feet.  It  wTas  thrown  back  from  her  face,  which,  how- 
ever, was  almost  concealed  by  a broad  linen  bandeau , which  cov- 
ered the  forehead,  and  was  then  brought  round  the  chin,  in  a man- 
ner that  gave  her  almost  the  appearance  of  a corpse.  From  her 
girdle  depended  a long  black  rosary,  to  which  was  attached  a 
cross. 

Her  address  was  graceful,  and  her  manners  and  conversation 
peculiarly  polished.  She  spoke  to  Mrs.  Fortescue,  as  to  an  old 
friend,  and  to  the  young  people  with  winning  suavity.  She  in- 
quired how  they  would  like  a convent  life,  and,  on  their  express- 
ing a great  dislike  to  it,  assured  them  that  they  were  under  the 
influence  of  prejudice,  for  that  it  was,  in  reality,  a life  of  serene 
uninterrupted  happiness.  She  spoke  eloquently  on  that  subject, 
and  her  apparent  cheerfulness  . certainly  seemed  to  corroborate 
her  statement. 

Mrs.  Fortescue  requested  to  see  some  specimens  of  fancy-work, 
as  she  intended  to  make  a few  purchases ; and  the  sister  immediate- 
ly gave  directions  to  that  effect.  A great  number  and  variety  of 
beautiful  and  ingenious  articles,  the  work  of  the  sisterhood,  were 
exhibited,  and  the  visitors  purchased  several.  Sister  Sainte  Eu- 
phrasie  then  offered  to  show  them  an  altar-cloth,  which  some  of 
the  nuns  were  embroidering  for  their  chapel.  This  offer  being 
accepted,  the  inner  door  of  the  convent  was  opened,  and  two 
young  nuns  appeared  at  it,  holding  between  them  a frame  on 
which  was  displayed  a superb  piece  of  embroidery,  elegantly 
wrought  in  gold  and  silver  thread,  intermixed  with  silk  of  differ- 
ent colors.  The  visitors  admired  it,  and  then  took  their  leave  : 
but  the  cousins  cast  back  many  a look  of  mingled  curiosity  and 
interest,  at  the  frowning  walls  of  the  convent,  which  enclosed 
so  large  a number  of  deluded  human  beings,  formed  for  the  duties 
and  the  enjoyments  of  social  life,  yet  condemned,  by  the  fatal  in 
fluence  of  an  unscriptural  system  of  “ will-worship,”  to  waste  their 
youth,  their  energies,  and  their  whole  existence,  in  the  gloomy 
and  useless  solitude  of  a cloister.  There  was  something  exceed- 
ing^ painful  in  these  reflections ; and  this  feeling  was  not  dimin- 
ished by  the  information  which  Caroline  now  communicated, — 
that  her  friend,  Sophia  Dorville,  was  resolved  to  become  a nun 
as  soon  as  her  education  was  finished. 

“ Would  to  God,”  whispered  Lydia  to  her  cousin,  “ that  Sophia 
had  not  so  much  influence  over  the  mind  of  Caroline  ! I cannot 
help  dreading  the  consequences  of  their  intimacy.” 

Emily  only  replied  by  an  expressive  pressure  of  the  hand  ; but 
Lydia  felt  that  she  was  understood,  and  her  sentiments  sympa- 
thized in. 


15* 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 


TRUE  FRIENDSHIP. 

To  him  that  ordereth  his  conversation  aright  will  I show  the  salvation  of 
God. — Psalm  1.  23. 

Emily  was  quietly  seated  in  her  room,  her  attention  deeply  ab- 
sorbed by  an  Italian  book,  which  her  master  had  recommended 
for  her  perusal,  when  a light  but  hurried  tap  at  her  door,  made  her 
start,  and  she  was  surprised  by  the  entrance  of  Rose.  Her  face  was 
pale,  and  her  eyes  red  with  weeping.  She  sat  down  by  her  friend, 
and  for  some  time  neither  of  them  spoke.  At  length  Rose  gasped  out, 
“My  dear,  dear  Emily,  lam  come  to  bid  you  farewell!  My 
father  has  sent  for  me,  and  he  vows  I shall  not  return  to  school.  I 
shall  be  fetched  in  an  hour,  and  I wish  to  spend  this  last  hour 
with  you.  Perhaps  we  may  never  meet  again !” 

She  threw  her  arms  round  Emily’s  neck,  and  wept  in  silent, 
but  deep  and  heartfelt  anguish.  Emily  could  not  repress  her  own 
emotion,  and  her  tears  mingled  plentifully  with  those  of  her 
friend. 

At  length  Rose  raised  herself  from  her  disconsolate  attitude, 
and  exclaimed,  with  unwonted  energy, 

“ I can  bear  this  constraint  no  longer.  Perhaps  I am  wrong, 
in  speaking  to  you  on  a subject  which  has  long  weighed  heavily 
on  my  heart ; I know  I am  transgressing  the  orders  of  those  I 
ought  to  obey ; but  I feel,  at  this  moment,  that  I cannot  be  silent 
any  longer.  The  distressing  necessity  of  parting  from  you, — 
perhaps  for  ever,  obliges  me  now  to  speak  openly.  Allow  me  then, 
my  dear  friend,  to  ask  you  a most  important  question.  Have  you 
any  intention  of  becoming  a Catholic  ?” 

“ I,  my  dearest  Rose  ! Certainly  not ! But  you  surprise  me, — • 
what  could  possibly  lead  you  to  think  I had  any  such  intention  Vy 
M I scarcely  know,”  answered  Rose,  while  her  countenance 
assumed  an  expression  of  disappointment  and  dejection,  “ but  as 
you  have  often  visited  our  churches,  hospitals,  and  convents,  I 

thought I hoped,”  she  added  with  a faltering  voice,  “ that 

some  of  the  religieuses  might  have  been  the  means  of  converting 
you  ” 

“ My  doing  so  has  been  chiefly  owing  to  curiosity,  and  the 
interest  naturally  inspired  by  institutions  so  widely  different  from 
all  I have  before  been  accustomed  to;  but  I assure  you  that,  far 
from  being  a convert  to  your  religion,  everything  I have  seen  and 
heard  has  only  tended  to  confirm  my  sentiments.” 

A slight  shade  of  vexation, — almost  of  impatience,— crossed 
the  pale,  pensive  brow  of  Rose,  as  she  exclaimed, 


TRUE  FRIENDSHIP. 


175 


“How  dreadful!  how  distressing!  Yet,  if  you  would  but 
examine  the  subject  with  attention,  you  might  change  your  opi- 
nion. But  I forget,  perhaps  you  are  not  free  to  do  so ; perhaps 
your  parents  might  be  seriously  displeased,  were  you  to  change 
your  religion.  Are  you  quite  sure  they  would  not  ?” 

“ I cannot  answer  that  question,  dear  Rose ; but  why  should  I 
seek  for  information  on  a subject  about  which  I have  not  the 
slightest  doubt 

“ Yet  if  you  would  but  inquire  ! Is  it  not  possible  that  you  may 
be  in  error  ? Oh ! believe  me,  you  are  !” 

Hush,  my  dearest  Rose  ! I fear  we  maybe  overheard.  Is  not 
Mademoiselle  de  Blangy  in  the  next  room  ? ” 
w I believe  she  is,  but  that  is  of  no  consequence  to  me.  I am 
about  to  be  separated  from  you,  and  I must  tell  you  all  I think  and 
feel,  whatever  may  result  from  the  avowal.  You  do  not, — you 
cannot  know  the  anguish  I suffer  on  your  account,  when  I see  you 
persisting  in  error  on  so  momentous  a subject.  I assure  you  that 
thought  is  a dagger  to  my  heart.  Oh  ! do  let  me  persuade  you  v> 
she  exclaimed,  with  the  most  affectionate  earnestness. 

“ And  can  you  suppose,  my  dearest  Rose,  that  I feel  xess 
anxiety  on  your  account,  than  you  do  on  mine  ? Believe  me, 
your  spiritual  state  is  equally  distressing  to  me.” 

“ Oh ! no,  no ! that  cannot  be ; for,  though  you  differ  from  us 
in  so  many  material  points,  you  have  more  than  once  acknow- 
ledged to  me,  that  you  believe  it  is  possible  to  be  saved  in  the 
Catholic  communion.  You  cannot,  therefore,  feel  for  me  as  I do 
for  you ; for  my  religion  teaches  me  that  there  is  no  salvation  in 
any  other,  and,”  she  added,  with  painful  emotion,  “ that  if  you  re- 
main in  your  errors,  you  must  inevitably  perish.” 

“ Well,  my  dear  Rose,  shall  we  examine  the  subject  together 
and  endeavor  to  ascertain,  by  the  word  of  God,  which  of  us  is  in 
the  right  way  ? Will  you  consent  to  become  my  instructress,  if 
I am  in  error?” 

“ Oh!  no,  I dare  not  attempt  it!  I am  not  equal  to  sucn  an 
undertaking : I am  too  young,  too  ignorant.” 

“ Yet  let  me  assure  you,  Rose,  it  is  not  learning  that  is  requisite. 
Though  I have  no  doubt  on  the  subject,  my  mind  is  quite  open  to 
conviction.  If  you  can  but  prove  your  sentiments  from  the 
Bible,  I require  no  other  test  of  truth.  Only  do  that,  and  I shall 
embrace  the  Roman  Catholic  faith  immediately.” 

“ Would  you  indeed  ?”  inquired  Rose,  with  animation.  “ Oh! 

how  easy  it  would  be  to  satisfy  you!  But  no I am  not 

sufficiently  acquainted  with  the  subject.  Yet  I will  propose 
another  method,  which,  if  you  love  me,  and  are  really  unpreju- 
diced, you  cannot  refuse.  Will  you  consent  to  converse  with 
another  person  on  the  subject  ? — with  a priest,  for  instance  ? ” 
Emily  hesitated  for  a moment : there  seemed  something  like 


17  6 


TRUE  FRIENDSHIP. 


temerity,  in  the  idea  of  her  encountering  the  learning,  the  sub* 
tlety,  and  eloquence  of  a priest : and  she  felt  tempted  to  decline 
the  contest.  But  she  remembered  the  apostolic  injunction,  “ Be 
ready  always  to  give  an  answer  to  every  one  that  asketh  you  a 
reason  of  the  hope  that  is  in  you,  with  meekness  and  fear.”  She 
recollected  also,  that  God  had  not  unfrequently  “ chosen  the  fool- 
ish things  of  the  world  to  confound  the  wise,”  and  resolved,  for 
the  sake  of  Rose,  to  trust  in  the  promised  assistance  of  God,  and 
the  truth  and  goodness  of  her  cause.  She  therefore  replied, 

“ I will,  my  dear  Rose  : — bring  me  your  confessor,  or  any  one 
else  you  please.  With  the  help  of  God  and  my  Bible,  I neither 
dread  the  trial,  nor  have  any  doubt  of  the  result.” 

“ Thank  you,  thank  you,  dear  Emily  ; I shall  beg  of  Monsieur 
de  Beauvais,  our  venerable  confessor,  to  do  me  the  favor  of  under- 
taking your  instruction.” 

“Rut  do  not  misunderstand  me,  Rose, — do  not  mistake  my 
words.  Let  not  Monsieur  de  Beauvais -imagine  that  it  is  my  own 
request,  or  that  I have  any  doubt  on  the  subject.  I again  repeat 
it,  I am  perfectly  convinced  of  the  superiority  of  Protestantism; 
I have  no  more  doubt  of  it,  than  I have  that  the  sun  is  now 
enlightening  the  sky.  It  is  for  yoitr  sake  alone  that  I submit  to 
the  trial,  and,  therefore,  the  request  to  Monsieur  de  Beauvais 
must  come  entirely  from  yourself” 

t;  I understand  you,  dear  Emily,  and  shall  take  care  to  represent 
it  in  the  proper  light.” 

“ But  allow  me,  my  friend,  to  make  one  observation  on  some- 
thing you  have  said.  I do  indeed  believe  it  possible  for  a Roman 
Catholic  to  be  saved ; for  your  church  still  retains  some  of  the 
great  truths  essential  to  salvation,  though  she  has  fearfully  disfig- 
ured and  added  to  them ; and  I trust  there  are  many  sincere 
Christians  in  her  communion,  who,  in  the  midst  of  much  dark- 
ness and  error,  exercise  a saving  reliance  on  those  blessed  truths. 
But  this  does  not  alter  my  opinion  of  the  system.  I certainly 
believe  you  to  be  in  error,  and  under  great  delusion,  which  renders 
your  salvation  much  more  difficult,  and  your  situation  often  a 
dangerous  one.  I,  therefore,  only  consent  to  the  discussion  you 
propose,  on  condition  that  you  shall  be  present  at  it,  unless  forbid- 
den by  your  friends.” 

“ Well,  I agree  to  that  condition,  and  shall  be  but  too  happy  if 
we  succeed.  Oh ! what  joy  for  me,  if  I could  but  see  you  a 
Catholic !” 

“ I ho  not  think,  dear  Rose,  you  will  ever  have  that  pleasure. 
However,  I am  willing  to  abide  the  test  of  my  principles.  Let 
Monsieur  de  Beauvais  come  with  temperate  argument,  and  with 
the  Bible  in  his  hand  ; I shall  hear  him  with  candor;  and  I again 
repeat,  I do  not  fear  the  result.  But,  remember,  I will  pay  no 
deference  to  the  authority  of  councils,  or  the  traditions  of  men ; 


TRUE  FRIENDSHIP.  177 

I acknowledge  no  other  standard  of  religion  than  the  Word  of 
God,  and  that  alone  shall  decide  the  contest.* 

It  was  now.  time  for  Rose  to  depart ; but  the  separation  of  the 
friends  was  rendered  much  less  painful,  by  the  arrangement 
which  had  just  been  made.  The  eyes  of  Rose  sparkled  with 
delight  at  the  thought  of  Emily’s  conversion  ; which,  to  her  san- 
guine imagination,  appeared  little  less  than  certain ; and  Emily, 
though  she  knew  that  conversion  is  the  work  of  God  alone, 
could  not  help  indulging  a hope,  that  the -discussion  in  question 
might,  through  the  blessing  of  Him  “ without  whom  nothing  is 
strong,  nothing  is  holy,”  be  the  means  of  leading  her  friend  to  in- 
quire into  the  truth  of  those  dogmas,  by  which  she  had  hitherto 
been  kept  in  bondage. 

A confirmation  was  soon  to  take  place  in  the  small  Protestant 

chapel  of  S , Bishop  Luscombe  having  been  appointed  to 

visit,  for  that  purpose,  the  different  English  communities  scatter- 
ed over  the  continent.  Several  of  Madame  d’Elfort’s  English 
pupils  were  desirous  of  attending  the  rite,  and  wrote  to  their  pa- 
rents for  permission  to  do  so.  This  was,  in  most  cases,  granted  ; 
but  their  governess  positively  refused  her  sanction.  The  young 
ladies,  therefore,  submitted,  though  not  without  murmuring ; — all 
except  one,  whose  spirit  rose  indignantly  against  this  arbitrary 
exercise  of  power.  She  remonstrated  loudly;  and,  as  there  was 
nothing  to  be  hoped  from  Miss  Bradford’s  apathy  on  religious  sub- 
jects, she  entreated  Emily’s  good  offices  with  Madame.  d’Elfort,  as 
she  was  generally  supposed  to  have  considerable  influence  over 
that  lady’s  mind.  Emily  promised  to  try  what  she  could  do;  but 
she  found  her  governess  inflexible,  and  proof  against  every  argu- 
ment she  could  use. 

“ My  dear  child,”  she  said,  “ I am  truly  grieved  to  be  compelled 
to  refuse  you  anything  ; but  I cannot  consent  to  your  request.  I 
allow  my  Protestant  pupils  the  free  exercise  of  their  religion ; I 
never  interfere  with  their  principles  ; but  I will  not  promote  them. 
My  religion  teaches  me  that  your  system  is  one  of  fearful  and 
most  dangerous  error ; and  my  conscience  will  not  allow  me  to 
sanction  or  countenance  any  of  its  ordinances.” 

“ But,  Madame,”  remonstrated  Emily,  “ would  you  not  think  it 
very  unjust  and  arbitrary,  if  a Protestant  governess  were  to  pre- 
vent a Roman  Catholic  child  from  partaking  in  the  ordinances  of 
her  church  ?” 

“That  is  a case,  my  young  friend,  which  I can  scarcely  think 
possible,”  replied  Madame  d’Elfort,  with  a slight  curl  of  her  lip. 
“No  true  Catholic  would  ever  entrust  his  child  to  those  whom  he 
considers  to  be  in  error,  especially  at  that  age,  when  she  ought  to 
be  admitted  to  the  most  sacred  rites  of  the  church.  Besides,  I 
have  conversed  with  some  members  of  your  communion  on  the  sub- 
ject, and  they  spoke  of  confirmation  as  of  a form,  which  might 


178 


TRUE  FRIENDSHIP. 


be  postponed,  or  even  omitted  altogether,  without  any  serio  is 
reliction  of  their  principles.” 

Emily  could  only  blush  for  these  professed  members  of  the 
church  of  England,  and  reply,  that  confirmation  was  strongly  in- 
sisted upon  by  that  church,  not  only  as  a duty,  but  a privilege, 
and  a most  important  means  of  grace. 

Madame  d’Elfort  looked  perplexed.  “ I know  not,”  said  she, 
w how  to  understand  all  these  diversities  of  opinion  in  your  church. 
There  ought  to  be  no  such  latitude  of  interpretation.  Our  duties 
are  clearly  and  explicitly  stated  to  us;  and  we  can  neither  slight 
nor  neglect  any  of  the  appointed  ordinances  of  our  church,  with- 
out incurring  the  fearful  peril  of  mortal  sin.  Every  duty,  with 
us,  is  imperative  ; every  religious  observance  indispensable.  But, 
with  you,  it  seems  to  me  as  if  every  one  had  a rule  of  his  own  ” 

“ My  dear  Madame,”  inquired  Emily,  “ are  there  no  persons  in 
your  church,  as  well  as  in  ours,  who  neglect  the  means  of  grace, 
and  whose  works  deny  their  Christian  profession  ?” 

“ I acknowledge  there  are,  indeed,  but  too  many  ; but  they  are 
persons  devoid  of  all  religion ; whereas,  those  I speak  of,  in  your 
communion,  are  professedly  pious  and  devout,  and  are  considered 
so  by  others.-  Excuse  me,  my  young  friend,  but  these  inconsist- 
encies have  often  struck  me,  as  being  strong  arguments  against 
the  Protestant  system.” 

Emily  only  answered  by  a deep  sigh,  and  then,  after  a pause, 
inquired  if  this  was  Madame  d’Elfort’s  final  answer  to  Miss  Ash- 
ton’s petition  ? 

“ It  is,  my  love  ; and  I have  another  reason  for  it,  besides  those 
I have  told  you  already.  Miss  Bradford  does  not  think  the  con- 
firmation of  any  importance  to  the  young  ladies  at  present ; I can- 
not, therefore,  require  her  to  begin  a course  of  instruction  for  that 
object;  and,  without  a great  deal  of  private,  as  well  as  public, 
preparation,  I should  not  feel  justified  in  allowing  any  pupils  of 
mine  to  attend  an  ordinance  of  so  much  religious  importance. 
Tell  them,  therefore,  that  they  must  wait  till  their  return  to  Eng- 
land, before  they  ratify  their  baptismal  vows,  by  the  office  of  con- 
firmation.” 

Madame  d’Elfort  now  kissed  Emily,  and  they  separated.  Isa 
bella  Ashton  was  indignant  at  her  refusal,  and  so  was  Mr.  Ber- 
rington,  the  English  minister  at  S . He  even  resolved  to  in- 

form the  Bishop  of  it,  and  it  is  probable  that  he  executed  his  in- 
tention. But  he  mistook  the  character  of  Madame  d’Elfort,  when 
he  attributed  her  conduct  solely  to  bigotry.  There  was  far  more 
true  conscientiousness  in  it,  than  was  displayed  by  those,  whose 
inconsistency  thus  brought  a scandal  on  the  truth  of  the  Protest- 
ant faith. 

Emily  was  delighted,  a few  days  after  this,  to  see  her  friend  Rose 
return  to  the  school,  and  still  more  so,  when  she  perceived  that 


TRUE  FRIENDSHIP. 


179 


her  countenance  was  more  cheerful  than  formerly,  and  that  her 
reserve  seemed,  at  last,  to  have  entirely  disappeared.  She  im- 
mediately sought  an  opportunity  of  being  alone  with  Emily,  and 
entered  into  conversation  with  her  on  the  subject  of  her  own 
situation  and  feelings. 

“ You  can  scarcely  imagine,  my  beloved  Emily,”  said  she,  “ how 
happy  I am  at  this  moment.  Joy  has  so  long  been  a stranger  to 
this  poor  heart,  that  I feel  as  if  I were  in  a delightful  dream,  and 
sometimes  fear  I shall  lose  all  my  happiness  on  awaking.  You 
will,  I am  sure,  sympathize  with  me,  when  I tell  you  that  my 
dear  father  seems  at  last  to  have  ‘ come  to  himself,’  and  to  a sense 
of  his  duty.  He  has  discovered  the  true  character  of  the  wicked 
woman  who  has  so  long  governed  and  held  him  in  thrall.  He 
has  solemnly  sworn  to  dismiss  her,  and  she  is  to  leave  the  house 
as  soon  as  he  has  made  arrangements  for  her  future  provision  in 
a distant  province.  It  was  my  earnest  wish  to  remain  at  home 
during  the  intervening  time,  as  the  influence  which  it  has  pleased 
Heaven  to  give  me  over  my  father’s  mind  might  have  contributed 
to  confirm  his  good  resolutions ; and,  besides,  I feared  that  Ma^ 
dame  Gerard’s  malice  might  be  wreaked  on  my  dear,  helpless,  un- 
offending mother.  My  uncle,  however,  would  not  hear  of  my  re- 
maining under  the  same  roof  with  her ; and,  as  my  confessor 
also  thought  it  more  consistent  with  propriety  that  I should  re 
turn  to  school,  I have  reluctantly  yielded,  on  their  promising  to 
keep  a watchful  eye  over  my  poor  mamma’s  comfort.” 

Emily  expressed  her  sincere  pleasure  at  this  intelligence,  and 
Rose  resumed, , 

“ I scarcely  need  tell  you,  my  dear  friend,  that  I have  been  very 
miserable, — so  much  so,  indeed,  that  I had,  at  one  time,  almost 
resolved  to  take  the  veil  in  a convent,  that  I might  be  enabled  to 
devote  myself  entirely  to  a life  of  prayer  for  my  unhappy  family. 
The  only  consideration  that  withheld  me,  was  the  helpless  situa- 
tion of  my  beloved  mother  and  sister.  But  now,  I look  forward 
to  the  sweet  hope  of  devoting  myself  to  the  comfort  of  the  dear 
invalid,  and  the  education  of  my  darling  Claire.  And,  my  kind 
friend,  I have  preferred  my  request  about  you  to  good  Monsieur 
de  Beauvais,  and  he  has  consented  to  converse  with  you  the  first 
day  he  is  at  leisure.  Gh  ! what  happiness,  my  beloved  Emily ! 
it  is  almost  too  much  for  your  poor  Rose  !” 

Emily  smiled  at  the  fallacy  of  her  expectations  on  the  latter 
subject,  but  did  not  wish  to  damp  the  ardor  of  her  joy.  The  bell 
now  summoned  them  back  to  the  house,  but  as  they  were  enter- 
ing, they  met  Madame  d’Elfort,  who,  passing  her  arm  round  Emi- 
ly’s waist,  drew  her  again  into  the  garden. 

“ Ma  petite  Jille”  said  she  affectionately,  “ I have  long  observed 
with  pleasure  the  intimacy  between  you  and  Rose  de  Liancourt, 
and  cannot  refrain  from  congratulating  you  on  having  secured 


180 


A CHANGE  OF  RESIDENCE. 


such  a friend.  Rose  is,  indeed,  a most  superior  girl, — one  amonj 
a thousand.  I have  found  it  quite  a privilege  to  be  entrusted  with 
the  education  of  so  pious,  so  single-hearted,  and  heavenly-minded 
a being.  Her  sister,  who  was  also  my  pupil,  was  a saint, — almost 
an  angel  upon  earth  ; and  Rose  is  little  less.  Marie  was  early 
transplanted  to  the  garden  of  paradise,  and  I cannot  but  fear  that 
our  sweet  Rose  will  not  be  long  an  earthly  flower.  She  lives  but 
for  her  family,  and  would  have  devoted  herself  to  a cloister,  that 
she  might  pray  for  them  continually,  had  not  her  confessor  per- 
suaded her  that  her  mother’s  and  sister’s  happiness,  and  perhaps 
her  father’s  conversion,  would  be  better  secured  by  her  remaining 
with  them.  Monsieur  de  Beauvais  has  frequently  told  me,  that 
he  never  had  under  his  charge  a young  person  so  eminently  con- 
scientious, so  pure  in  heart  and  soul,  and,  at  the  same  time,  so 
thoroughly  humble,  so  fervently  devoted  to  God.  Indeed,  so  un- 
common and  intense  is  her  piety,  that  he  does  not  hesitate  in 
avowing  his  firm  belief,  that  she  is  intended  by  God  for  some 
great  and  meritorious  work, — some  singular  and  exalted  destiny.” 
Emily’s  tears  silently  bore  witness  to  the  interest  and  emotion 
with  which  she  heard  these  praises  of  her  friend.  Madame  d’El- 
fort’s  being  summoned  away  prevented  the  necessity  of  a reply ; 
but  she  mentally  exclaimed,  as  she  retraced  her  steps  to  the 
house,  “ Dear,  dear  Rose  \ may  the  ‘ Sun  of  Righteousness’  arise 
on  your  soul,  and  the  Holy  Spirit  { guide  you  into  all  truth,’  and 
that  indeed,  will  be  a glorious  and  a blessed  destiny !” 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

A CHANGE  OF  RESIDENCE. 

In  all  thy  ways  acknowledge  Him,  and  He  shall  direct  thy  paths.— Prov.  iii.  6. 

The  next  fortnight  was  a time  of  separation  and  mourning,  in 
Madame  d’Elfort’s  establishment.  Miss  Maxwell  and  one  of  her 
sisters,  Anna  Lushington,  and  two  of  the  Misses  Danvers,  left  the 
school  not  to  return,  and  Emma  and  Louisa  Selwyn  were  also 
unexpectedly  summoned  home,  in  consequence  of  their  mother’s 
illness.^  Rose  de  Liancourt  was  on  the  eve  of  her  departure  j and 
the  arrival  of  Mr.  Howard,  with  his  two  younger  daughters,  at 
S , was  the  signal  for  Emily,  Caroline,  and  Lydia’s  also  bid- 


A CHANCE  OF  RESIDENCE. 


1S1 


ding  farewell  to  the  circle  of  which  they  had  so  long  formed  a part. 
Caroline  wept  with  overpowering  emotion,  on  embracing  her 
father  and  sisters,  and  Lydia  was  almost  wild  with  joy,  though 
her  transports  were  mixed  with  many  tears,  at  the  recollection  of 
her  departed  mother.  But  the  greatest  anxiety  was  excited,  in 
the  minds  of  both  his  daughters  and  niece,  by  the  evident  altera- 
tion which  had  taken  place  in  the  appearance  of  Mr.  Howard. 
He  was  pale,  thin,  and  weak,  and  seemed  not  to  have  recovered 
his  spirits.  They  trusted,  however,  that,  when  he  had  rested 
from  the  fatigue  of  travelling,  he  would  look  more  like  himself. 
They  had  a long  conversation  with  him,  in  which  he  informed 
them  that  his  wife  had,  during  her  short  illness,  requested  to  see 
their  friend  Mr.  Morton,  and  that  his  visits  and  ministrations  had 
been  a source  of  great  comfort  to  her,  in  her  dying  moments. 

Lydia  clasped  her  hands,  and  raised  her  eyes  to  heaven,  with 
unutterable  thankfulness,  and  Emily’s  heart  swelled  with  grateful 
joy,  while  Caroline  hung  down  her  head,  and  continued  to  weep 
in  silence. 

Mr.  Howard  resolved  to  remain  a few  days  at  S , and  then 

to  take  his  daughters  and  niece  to  Paris,  where  he  would  place 
Henrietta  and  Julia  at  school,  and  afterwards  make  a small  tour 
with  Emily,  Caroline,  and  Lydia.  It  was  but  too  evident  that 
his  health  was  declining*,  but  much  benefit  was  anticipated  from 
this  proposed  excursion. 

The  day  was  now  fast  approaching,  when  the  young  people 
were  to  separate  from  the  little  society  in  which  they  had  moved 
for  upwards  of  a year.  There  is  something  very  sad  in  the  break- 
ing up  of  even  school-associations.  A number  of  young  persons 
are  brought  together  under  the  same  roof ; they  engage  in  the  same 
occupations,  participate  in  the  same  joys  and  sorrows,  enjoy  the 
same  privileges,  live  in  the  most  familiar  sisterly  intercourse,  and 
sometimes  contract  the  closest  and  most  endearing  friendships. 
A few  years  roll  on,  and  they  are  separated ; one  beloved  fate  dis- 
appears after  another ; and  their  places  are  supplied  by  others, 
till  the  whole  society  assumes  a new  aspect.  The  persons  who 
once  composed  it  are  scattered  on  the  face  of  the  earth ; the  links 
of  familiar  intercourse  are  broken  asunder  ; and  oh ! how  seldom 
do  those  of  friendship  endure  ! It  may  be  said  with  truth,  that 
many  school-intimacies  are  but  the  effects  of  inexperience  and  mis- 
placed affection,  and,  therefore,  being  inexpedient,  are  better  dis- 
solved. Yet  it  is  melancholy  to  witness  the  utter  indifference, 
the  cold  salutation,  if  not  the  averted  eye,  and  contemptuous  look, 
between  those  who  once  shared  the  same  chamber,  perhaps  the 
same  bed,  and  seemed  almost  to  have  but  one  heart. 

Emily  felt  all  this,  as  she  looked  round  on  her  young  com- 
panions ; but  her  heart  melted  in  peculiar  sympathy  for  Helen, 
who  seemed  almost  overwhelmed  by  the  thought  of  the  heart-soil 
1H 


182 


A CHANGE  OF  RESIDENCE. 


tudc  in  which  she  was  soon  to  be  left.  She  expressed  an  earnest 
desire  to  accompany  Emily  and  Caroline  to  the  Lord’s  table,  the 
following  Sabbath, — the  last  they  were  to  spend  at  Madame  d’El- 
fort’s.  She  had  never  yet  partaken  of  that  solemn  ordinance  ; and 
Emily  felt  it  her  duty  to  impress  on  her  mind  the  necessity  ot 
coming  to  it  in  humble  faith,  and  with  a sincere  resolution  of  de- 
voting herself  to  God.  She  found  her  timid,  fearful,  and  self- 
abased,  but  anxiously  desirous  of  coming  to  Christ  alone  for  sal- 
vation, and  of  living  to  his  glory,  by  walking  in  “ the  narrow  way 
that  leadeth  unto  life.”  She  lent  her  an  excellent  little  work  on 
the  subject,  entitled  “ The  Christian  Guest,”  and  encouraged  her 
to  come  to  him  who  has  graciously  invited  the  “weary  and 
heavy-laden.” 

Miss  Bradford  was  to  spend  that  afternoon  with  some  friends, 
and  several  of  the  young  ladies  expressed  the  greatest  pleasure  at 
this  circumstance,  as  they  hoped  to  enjoy  a comfortable  hour  of 
serious  devotion,  with  Emily  once  more  as  their  leader  and  in- 
structress. Before  she  began  to  read  prayers,  however,  Emily 
spoke  a few  words  of  mild  reproof  to  several  of  the  young  ladies, 
whom  she  knew  to  have  behaved  irreverently  during  the  service* 
since  it  had  been  conducted  by  Miss  Bradford,  and  expressed  a 
hope  that  they  would  not  again  be  guilty  of  so  great  a sin.  Some 
of  them  hung  down  their  heads,  ashamed  of  their  conduct ; Fanny 
Gordon,  and  one  or  two  more,  exchanged  looks  of  scornful  resent- 
ment; but  the  others  endeavored  to  extenuate  their  fault,  by  say- 
ing that  Miss  Bradford  herself  had  no  religion,  and  did  not  set 
them  a good  example.  Emily,  however,  entreated  them  to  re- 
member that,  even  if  it  were  so,  her  sin  would  not  lessen  or  ex- 
cuse theirs,  and  that  “ every  one  must  give  an  account  of  himself 
to  God.”  They  promised  to  be  more  attentive  in  future,  and  their 
behavior  on  the  present  occasion  was  certainly  most  decorous. 
The  greatest  seriousness  prevailed  during  the  prayers,  and  when 
they  read  a chapter  in  the  manner  to  which  they  had  before  been 
accustomed,  conversing  on  it  as  they  proceeded,  the  greater  num- 
ber seemed  to  enter  into  the  subject  with  deep  and  lively  interest. 

Emily  then  read  the  Missionary  Prayer,  for  the  last  time  ; for, 
as  Miss  Bradford  had  refused  to  enter  into  their  missionary  plan, 
it  was  necessary  that  their  little  association  should  be  dissolved. 
A last  collection  was  made,  and  the  whole  amount  of  their  fund, 
which  was  indeed  but  a trifle,  comparatively  considered,  was  en- 
trusted to  Emily,  who  the  next  day  transmitted  it  to  Mrs.  Somer- 
ville, for  the  benefit  of  the  Church  Missionary  Society. 

It  was  then  agreed  that  this,  their  last  solemn  meeting,  should 
be  concluded,  as  formerly,  by  singing  a hymn,  which  was  chosen 
by  mutual  consent.  It  was  one  from  an  old  collection,  but  was 
considered  peculiarly  appropriate  to  their  present  circumstances. 
It  began  with  these  words, 


A CHANGE  OF  RESIDENCE, 


183 


Our  hearts  by  love  together  knit, 

Cemented,  joined  in  one, 

One  hope,  one  heart,  one  mind,  one  voice, 

’Tis  heaven  on  earth  begun. 

And  ended  with  the  following  lines, 

And  when  Thou  mak’st  Thy  jewels  up, 

And  sett’st  Thy  starry  crown  ; 

When  all  thy  glittering  gems  shall  shine, 

Proclaimed  by  Thee  Thine  own ; 

May  we, — we  little  band  of  love, — 

We  sinners,  saved  by  grace, — 

From  glory  into  glory  changed, 

Behold  Thee  face  to  face  ! 

’Tis  almost  'done, — ’tis  almost  o’er, — 

We’re  joining  those  who’ye  gone  before 
We  soon  shall  meet  on  that  blest  shore, 

We  soon  shall  meet  to  part  no  more. 

Whatever  might  be  the  merits  of  this  hymn,  considered  merely 
as  a poetical  composition,  its  effect  on  those  who  now  sang  it  was 
powerful  and  striking.  At  the  expression,  ftwe  little  band  of 
love,”  they  all  rose  simultaneously  from  their  seats,  aud  joining 
their  hands,  as  by  one  common  impulse,  remained  thus  linked 
together,  till  the  hymn  was  finished.  Tears  of  emotion,  of  affec- 
tion, and  regret,  were  glittering  in  almost  every  eye  ; and,  at  the 
conclusion,  they  rushed  into  each  other’s  arms,  and  wept  and  sob- 
bed, as  they  embraced  their  departing  friends. 

This  burst  of  feeling  was  rather  disagreeably  interrupted,  by  the 
sarcastic* laugh  and  insulting  mockery  of  a French  girl,  Clemen- 
tine Vermont,  who  had  been  listening  to  them  in  the  adjoining 
room,  with  the  intention  of  turning  the  Protestant  service  into 
ridicule.  The  little  party,  therefore,  broke  up,  and  retired  to  the 
garden.  But  Mademoiselle  Vermont  did  not  long  remain  un- 

punished. Rose  de  Liancourt  had  heard  her,  and  soon  accosted 
her  with  an  indignant  rebuke.  Clementine  replied  with  scornful 
defiance  ; Rose  warmly  remonstrated  ol&ihe  shameful  impropriety 
of  her  conduct,  and  was  answered  wit#  violent  invectives;  till 
the  loudness  of  the  dispute  attracted  the  notice  of  Madame  d'El- 
fort,  who  insisted  on  being  made  acquainted  with  its  cause.  But 
it  would  be  difficult  to  describe  the  indignation  and  contempt 
with  which  she  regarded  the  discomfited  Clementine.  After  giv- 
ing her  one  of  those  tremendous  reprimands  which  were  never 
forgotten,  she  sent  for  Emily,  and  commanded  her  to  make  an 
humble  apology  for  her  conduct ; then,  with  a look  and  tone  that 
admitted  of  no  reply,  she  said, 

“ Go  to  your  room,  Mademoiselle,  and  remain  there  two  days 
in  solitude.  I hope  your  own  reflections  there  will  convince  you 
of  the  truth  of  what  I now  tell  you, — that  the  person  who  can, 
under  any  pretence  whatever,  disturb  the  devotions  of  others. 


184 


A CHANGE  OE  RESIDENCE. 


proves  that  she  has  no  religion  at  all,  and  deserves  the  utmost 
contempt  of  every  well-thinking  being.” 

The  next  day  was  the  anniversary  of  the  formation  of  the 
school ; and  it  was  distinguished  by  a yearly  mass,  instituted  by 
Madame  d’Elfort  for  the  success  of  her  establishment  This  was 
certainly  a mark  of  sincere,  though  mistaken,  piety ; yet,  consider- 
ing the  doctrine  inculcated  by  the  Romish  church  on  the  subject 
of  the  mass,  and  its  being  declared  to  be  a propitiatory  sacrifice, 
Emily  felt  that  there  was  something  profane  and  shocking,  in 
thus  appropriating  its  supposed  benefits  to  a matter  so  purely 
worldly.  Madame  d’Elfort,  however,  was  accustomed  to  take  all 
her  pupils,  Protestants  as  well  as  Papists,  to  the  cathedral,  on  that 
important  occasion,  and  it  would  have  been  thought  a very  bad 
compliment,  if  not  an  insult,  to  her,  to  have  refused  to  attend. 
Emily,  therefore,  went  with  the  others,  and  once  more  witnessed 
the  gorgeous  pomp,  and  undisguised  idolatry,  of  the  mass.  She 
was  much  gratified,  however,  to  observe  that  none  of  the-  English 
pupils  knelt,  though  some  of  those  who  were  near  the  governess 
and  teachers  assumed  an  attitude,  which  might  almost  have  been 
mistaken  for  kneeling. 

The  Tuesday  was  fixed  for  the  departure  of  Mr.  Howard  and 
his  family ; and  the  same  day  Rose  de  Liancourt  also  bade  fare- 
well to  Madame  d’Elfort’s  establishment.  She  had  not  again 
mentioned  the  subject  of  Emily’s  conversation  with  the  priest, 
and  it  was,  therefore,  probable,  that  Monsieur  de  Beauvais  had 
declined  the  controversy.  Emily  felt  glad  that  it  was  so,  on  her 
own  account,  though  she  could  scarce  help  regretting  it  for  the 
sake  of  Rose. 

Many  tears  were  shed  on  both  sides,  as  the  young  friends  sepa 
rated  ; but  a frequent  correspondence  was  agreed  upon,  and,  as 
Mr.  Howard  would  probably  return  that  way,  hopes  were  mutually 
indulged  that  they  might  meet  again.  Madame  d’Elfort  also 
made  Emily  promise  to  pay  her  a visit  on  their  return,  and  they 
parted  in  the  most  affectionate  manner.  There  was  a noble  sin- 
cerity, a lofty  uprightness,  a genuine  sensibility,  in  that  lady’s 
character,  which  not  only  commanded  respect,  but  were  emi- 
nently calculated  to  insure  the  affection  of  every  heart  capable  of 
appreciating  those  qualities  of  a high  and  generous  mind. 
Yet  it  is  certain  that  she  was  generally  much  more  feared 
and  respected,  than  loved  by  her  pupils  ; and  perhaps  it  was 
in  consequence  of  this  well-known  circumstance,  that  she 
became  so  much  attached  to  those  few  young  persons,  who,  like 
Rose  and  Emily,  had  repaid  her  kindness  with  affectionate  confi- 
dence. She  was  not  a character  to  be  regarded  with  i ndifference  ; 
and  where  she  was  loved  at  all,  it  wTas  with  a feeling  almost 
amounting  to  enthusiasm. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  describe  the  sorrow  and  distress  of 


A CHANGE  OF  RESIDENCE. 


185 


poor  Helen,  at  the  departure  of  her  friends,  and  the  prospect  of 
being  left  without  one  serious  companion  of  her  own  age.  They, 
too,  felt  deeply  for  her:  but  Emily  endeavored  to  make  her  “ look 
unto  Jesus,  as  the  Author  and  Finisher  of  her  faith,”  and  entreated 
her  to  exercise  more  dependence  upon  Him,  assuring  her  that 
“ He  would  not  suffer  her  to  be  tempted  above  that  she  was  able 
but  would  make  “ His  strength  perfect”  in  her  weakness,  and  “ His 
grace  sufficient  for  her,”  though  she  was  deprived  of  earthly 
support. 

” My  dearest  Helen,”  said  she,  “ be  faithful  to  your  Saviour,  and 
He  will  never  leave  you,  nor  forsake  you.”  Remember  the  pro- 
mise, u In  all  thy  ways  acknowledge  Him,  and  He  will  direct  thy 
paths.”  Your  example  may  do  much  among  your  companions, 
and  it  is  your  duty  to  promote  their  spiritual  improvement,  when- 
ever you  have  an  opportunity.  There  are  still  some  of  them  well- 
disposed  towards  religion,  and  among  them  I should  wish  you  to 
pay  particular  attention  to  Eliza  Kaimes.  She  is  a dear,  interesting 
little  girl,  and  she,  as  well  as  the  others,  will  often  look  up  to  you 
for  example  and  direction.  Do  not  disappoint  them,  my  dear 
Helen,  but  endeavor  to  be  instrumental  in  bringing  them  to  the  fold 
of  the  Good  Shepherd.” 

Poor  Helen  only  wept,  and  reminded  Emily  that  she  had  pro- 
mised to  write  a fewr  lines  for  her,  which  were  to  serve  as  a me 
mento  of  their  endearing  intercourse,  and  a record  of  Christian 
friendship,  containing  her  parting  advice.  Emily  had  not  forgotten 
it,  and  when  she  bade  the  gentle  girl  farewell,  she  put  into  her  hand 
the  following  lines. 

FAREWELL  TO  HELEN. 

’Tvvas  but  lately  I welcomed  thy  steps  to  the  altar, 

Where  the  “ cup  of  salvation”  is  freely  bestowed  ; 

Saw  the  tear  dim  thine  eye, — heard  thy  soft  accents  falter, 

While  approaching  the  table, — the  feast  of  thy  God. 

Oh  ! then,  while  thy  cheek  wore  the  tinge  of  emotion, 

With  what  feelings  of  grateful,  of  rapturous  joy 

Did  I view  the  meek  fervor, — the  heart-felt  devotion, 

That  glowed  in  thy  bosom,  and  beamed  from  thine  eye ! 

With  what  anxious  delight  have  I watched  the  first  breaking 
Of  the  pure  light  of  truth,  as  it  dawned  on  thy  mind ; 

Have  I seen  thy  young  spirit  with  earnestness  seeking 
That  Saviour, — that  God,  whom  to  seek  is  to  find. 

Oh  ! ’twas  sweet  to  my  soul,  as  the  first  blush  of  morning, 

Or  the  rose  with  its  fragrance  embalming  the  gale  ; 

Or  the  dew-drops,  like  crystal,  the  hawthorn  adorning, 

Ere  the  rays  of  the  sun  all  their  freshness  exhale. 

Fairest  bud  of  fair  promise,  in  loneliness  growing, 

On  thy  leaf  may  the  sweet  dews  of  heaven  distil ! 

May  the  rich  stream  of  grace,  through  the  wilderness  flo  wing. 

Adorn  thee  with  beauty,  and  nourish  thee  still ! 

16* 


186 


THE  FRENCH  PROTESTANT  SCHOOL. 


May  the  bright  “ Sun  of  Righteousness’’  shine  on  thy  bosom, 
With  benignant  effulgence  arraying  thy  morn, 

In  the  beauties  of  holiness  cause  thee  to  blossom, 

And  thy  soul  with  the  Spirit’s  mild  graces  adorn. 

From  the  storm  of  distress,  from  the  noon  of  temptation, 

From  the  night-dews  so  deadly,  that  wither  and  fade, 

Be  the  Saviour  thy  shield ; be  the  “ Rock  of  salvation” 

Thy  shelter, — thy  refuge,  almighty  to  aid. 

Dearest  girl ! I must  leave  thee, — exposed  to  the  dangers 
Of  a spot  where  religion  must  arm  for  the  strife  ; 

Where  the  snares  of  the  world,  and  the  gay  voice  of  strangers 
Will  oft  tempt  thee  to  turn  from  the  pathway  of  life. 

Oh ! beware  of  the  p?riis, — the  snares  that  surround  thee  ! 

Be  humbie,  be  watchful,  and  fervently  pray, 

That  the  wings  of  th  j Highest  may  hover  around  thee, 

Thy  protection,  thy  safety,  by  night  and  by  day. 

Remember  the  vows  of  devoted  surrender, 

Thou  didst  make,  at  the  feast  of  a crucified  Lord  ; 

Remember  his  love,  so  unbounded,  so  tender, 

To  the  soul  by  His  covenant  mercy  restored. 

Oh ! grieve  not  His  Spirit ! — the  bond  of  that  union 
Which  believers  enjoy  with  the  Fountain  of  love  : 

But  live  under  His  smile, — in  endearing  communion 
With  the  “ Father  of  lights,”  and  the  spirits  above. 

Dearest  Helen,  farewell ! — while  in  sorrow  I press  thee 
To  a bosom  that  throbs  with  affection  sincere, 

My  full  heart  melts  in  prayer  to  the  God  who  can  bless  thee. 
And  preserve  thee  from  evil,  while  sojourning  here. 

Farewell !— -sometimes  think  on  thy  friend  with  affectic*  , ■ 
Oh ! be  faithful  to  Jesus  ! be  still  on  thy  guard  ! 

May  his  love  be  thy  sure, — thy  unfailing  protection,  ~ 

Thy  portion  in  life,— thine  eternal  reward ! 


CHAPTER  XXVlft. 


THE  FRENCH  PROTESTANT  SCHOOL 


l know  thy  works,  that  thou  hast  a name  that  thou  and  art  Aotug  — 
Rev.  iii.  1. 

The  cousins  had  not  parted  without  tears,  from  a society  in  which 
they  had  lived  for  more  than  a twelvemonth ; and  with  the  ex- 
ception of  Miss  Bradford,  Miss  Gordon,  and  one  or  two  others, 


THE  FRENCH  PROTESTANT  SCHOOL. 


187 


t\.i  > had  received  from  all  the  English  inmates  of  the  establish- 
ment, the  most  unequivocal  marks  of  affection,  and  sorrow  at 
their  departure.  The  French  girls  had  also  expressed  their  regret, 
except  Clementine  Vermont;  and  if  Mademoiselle  St.  Andre  had 
seen  them  depart  with  ill-disguised  pleasure,  Mademoiselle  Mor- 
nay  had  loudly  declared  her  esteem  for  their  characters.  Caroline 
was  almost  inconsolable,  at  leaving  her  friend  Sophie  Dorville ; 
Madame  d’Elfort’s  last  affectionate  embrace,  and  the  tears  that 
stood  in  her  eyes,  had  completely  overcome  Emily’s  assumed  firm- 
ness, and  the  floods  of  tears  with  which  Lydia  had  torn  herself 
from  the  arms  of  the  sobbing  Helen,  continued  to  flow  long  after 
they  had  lost  sight  of  the  town  and  its  inhabitants. 

This  depression  of  spirits  was  not  lessened,  on  observing  that 
Mr.  Howard,  instead  of  seeming  better  in  health  than  when  he 

arrived  at  S , was  evidently  worse,  and  much  weaker  than 

the  last  time  they  had  £een  him.  They,  therefore,  exerted  them- 
selves to  amuse  him  ; and,  as  they  travelled  on,  the  scenery 
through  which  they  passed,  and  the  different  incidents  connected 
with  their  journey,  insensibly  contributed  to  restore  some  degree 
of  cheerfulness  to  the  whole  party. 

On  their  arrival  at  Paris,  Mr.  Howard  took  his  daughters  and 
niece  to  see  whatever  was  worth  seeing  in  that  gay  capital  ; but 
his  own  health  continued  so  alarmingly  to  decline,  that  the  phy- 
sicians he  consulted  recommended  his  hastening  to  Italy,  and 
spending  the  ensuing  winter  in  that  genial  climate.  After  a 
month’s  residence  at  Paris,  therefore,  he  communicated  to  the 
young  people  the  necessity  for  his  departure,  anjl  his  intention 
of  either  taking  them  back  to  Madame  d’Elfort’s,  or  placing  them 
at  any  other  school  they  might  choose,  till  his  return,  when  he 
would  conduct  Emily,  Caroline  and  Lydia,  back  to  England- 
This,  he  hoped,  he  would  be  sufficiently  recovered  to  do  the  en- 
suing spring ; but,  as  Emily  looked  at  his  pale  countenance  and 
wasted  form,  she  could  not  suppress  a sigh  of  painful  foreboding. 
Caroline,  too,  seemed  struck  with  apprehension,  and  earnestly 
begged  that  her  father  would  allow  her  to  accompany  him.  To 
this,  however,  he  would  not  consent,  observing,  that,  should  sick- 
ness or  death  deprive  her  of  his  guidance  and  protection,  it  would 
be  a source  of  misery  to  him,  to  think  of  her  being  left  helpless 
and  friendless  in  a distant  land. 

All  the  girls  wept  at  this  suggestion,  but  Mr.  Howard  requested 
them  to  lose  no  time  in  choosing  the  school  where  they  might 
wish  to  be  left.  At  this  proposal,  they  all  hesitated,  though  from 
various  motives ; but,  when  Caroline  at  length  named  Madame 
d’Elfort’s,  Emily  and  Lydia  felt  that  it  was  time  to  speak 
candidly. 

“ My  dear  uncle,”  said  the  former,  “ I have  the  most  sincere 
esteem  and  affection  for  Madame  d’Elfort,  nor  do  I think  we  could 


1S8 


THE  FRENCH  PROTESTANT  SCHOOL. 


possibly  be  placed  at  a better  school.  But  pardon  me  if  I say, 
that,  as  a Protestant.  I cannot  wish  to  be  again  a resident  in  a 
Roman  Catholic  seminary,  and  that  1 am  convinced  it  is  highly 
dangerous  to  entrust  young  people  to  such  tuition.” 

“ Oh ! yes,  dear  papa,”  added  Lydia,  “ it  is  indeed  very,  very 
dangerous  ! I can  speak  from  my  own  experience  of  the  fascinat- 
ing influence  of  popery;  and  I am  not  the  only  one  who  has  felt 
its  ensnaring  power.” 

“ But  you  must  acknowledge,”  observed  Caroline,  rather  indig- 
nantly/1 that  our  principles  were  never  interfered  with ; and  I 
certainly  think,  Emily  and  Lydia,  that  your  arguments  imply  a 
want  of  confidence  in  the  Protestant  cause,  for,  if  it  cannot  bear  a 
comparison  with  its  rival,  it  must  be  weak  indeed.” 

“ We  do  not  doubt  the  power  of  truth,  Caroline,”  replied  Emily, 
“but  we  distrust  our  own  hearts.  The  scripture  says,  1 Let  him 
that  thinketh  he  standeth,  take  heed  lest  he  fall and,  if  we  are 
directed  to  pray  every  day,  ‘ Lead  us  not  into  temptation,’  we  have 
no  right  to  rush  into  it  of  our  own  accord.” 

“ Dear  papa  !”  exclaimed  Lydia,  clasping  her  father’s  hand  with 
energy,  “ do,  pray,  place  us  wherever  you  please,  but  let  it  be  at  a 
Protestant  school.” 

“ Well,  my  dear  children,”  said  the  indulgent  father,  “ I will 
place  you  at  whatever  school  you  may  choose;  only  endeavour 
to  agree  among  yourselves,  and  let  me  know  your  decision  to- 
morrow.” 

That  very  evening,  Lydia  sought  and  obtained  a private  inter- 
view with  her  father,  before  he  retired  to  rest.  In  this  conversa- 
tion, she  operUy  declared  to  him  her  fears  on  her  sister’s  account, 
and  the  reasons  wrhich  made  her  dread  Caroline's  further  associa- 
tion with  Roman  Catholics.  Mr.  Howard  heard  her  with  atten- 
tion, and  not  without  surprise,  but  expressed  his  incredulity  of 
there  being  any  sufficient  ground  for  her  apprehensions. 

“ Nonsense,  my  love,”  exclaimed  he,  “ your  sisterly  anxiety 
must  have  greatly  magnified  the  danger.  You  cannot  persuade 
me  that  Caroline  can  be  so  devoid  of  common  sense,  as  to  credit 
the  absurdities  of  the  Popish  religion.  She  is  attached  to  Made- 
moiselle Dorville,  and  that  accounts  for  all  that  has  caused  your 
alarm.  You  are  an  enthusiast,  my  Lydia,  and  therefore  a little 
visionary.” 

Lydia  felt  vexed  and  mortified  at  the  indifference  with  which 
her  father  treated  the  subject ; but  she  renewed  her  entreaties  with 
persevering  ardor,  and  at  length,  by  her  tears  and  importunities, 
succeeded  in  obtaining  a promise  that  they  should  not  be  placed 
at  a Roman  Catholic  school. 

Mr.  Howard  fulfilled  this  promise,  though  against  the  wishes  of 
Caroline ; and  she  submitted  to  his  decision,  though  evidently 
not.  without  reluctance.  Inquiries  were  made  for  a Piolestant 


THE  FRENCH  PROTESTANT  SCHOOL. 


1S9 


pension , and  Mr.  Howard  at  length  fixed  upon  one,  conducted  by, 
Mademoiselle  Duvallon,  very  beautifully  situated  in  the  environs, 
of  Paris.  This  school  was  recommended  by  many  advantages 
and  the  governess,  teachers,  and  pupils,  being  all  Protestants 
and  constantly  attending  a French  Protestant  place  of  wor* 
ship,  no  possible  objection  could  be  made  to  so  eligible  an 
establishment.  Emily,  indeed,  could  have  wished  to  inquire  as 
to  the  piety  of  the  governess,  and  Lydia  also  was  anxious  on  that 
subject ; but  they  had  no  means  of  acquiring  the  information 
they  so  much  desired;  and  it  was  finally  settled,  that  they  should 
enter  Mademoiselle  Duvallon’s  seminary  in  three  days.  This  in- 
terval was  one  of  much  painful  interest  to  the  cousins ; for  they 
could  not  banish  from  their  minds  a fearful  presentiment  of 
evil;  and  the)7  felt  as  if  the  conversations  they  now  had  with  Mr. 
Howard  were  the  last  they  should  ever  be  favored  with.  This 
impression,  for  which,  indeed,  there  seemed  but  too  much  cause, 
threw  a cloud  of  indescribable  sadness  over  these  last  hours  of  affec- 
tionate intercourse,  and  invested  their  parting  with  the  bitter  an- 
guish of  a final  separation.  Mr.  Howard  tore  himself  with 
difficulty  from  his  weeping  daughters  and  niece  ; and  they  found 
themselves  once  more  among  strangers,  while  he  pursued  his 
journey  towards  the  south,  in  search  of  that  restoration  to  health 
which  he  was  never  to  experience. 

The  society  among  which  they  now  found  themselves  consisted 
of  about  forty  young  ladies,  and  three  teachers.  There  were  but 
few  English  girls  among  them,  and  those  of  the  most  uninterest- 
ing description.  They  soon  found  that,  if  there  was.no  supersti- 
tion in  their  religion,  there  was  also  very  little  heart  or  sincerity. 
Their  religious  observances  were  few,  and  distinguished  by  the 
most  chilling  indifference.  The  pulpit  in  their  church  was  occu- 
pied by  a minister  of  eminent  talents,  and  great  reputation  for 
eloquence ; but,  alas ! how'  cold,  how  lifeless  were  those  dis- 
courses, in  which  a baseless  system  of  morality  wras  substituted  for 
vital  religion, — the  praises  of  human  virtue  and  merit  for  the 
glorious  work  of  salvation, — and  the  graces  of  oratory  for  the 
“joyful  sound”  of  the  “ truth  as  it  is  in  Jesus !” 

They  felt  that  they  had  indeed  escaped  from  the  precincts  of  a 
corrupted  church ; but  they  were  now7  in  the  midst  of  a congre- 
gation which  was  but  as  a dry  and  withered  branch  of  the  beau- 
teous Protestant  vine.  It  was  a shadow  without  a substance, — a 
body  without  a soul. 

They  had  hoped  to  find,  at  least,  more  decorum  in  the  observ- 
ance of  the  Sabbath,  among  these  professed  Protestants,  than 
among  the  poor  blinded  Roman  Catholics.  But  here,  again,  they 
were  disappointed.  There  was  much  less  devotion  in  their 
religious  services,  and  quite  as  much  dissipation  afterwards.  The 
profane  song,  the  giddy  dance,  the  thoughtless  aihusement,  were 


190 


THE  FRENCH  PROTESTANT  SCHOOL. 


as  prevalent  as  they  had  been  at  S ; and  it  was  but  too  evi- 

dent their  religion  was  but  a mere  lifeless  form,  without  any 
vital  power,  or  influence  on  their  hearts  and  conduct. 

Emily’s  soul  sickened  within  her,  as  she  looked  round  on  this 
scene  of  spiritual  desolation;  and  Lydia. and  Caroline  seemed 
still  less  able  to  conquer  their  disgust. 

“ I would  much  rather  be  among  the  Roman  Catholics,”  ex- 
claimed the  former,  with  her  usual  vehemence  of  feeling.  “ They, 
at  least,  are  sincere,  if  they  are  mistaken  in  their  views  : and  there 
is  an  earnestness  in  their  attention  to  their  ceaseless  round  of  un- 
meaning forms,  a conscientiousness  in  their  strict  and  punctual 
discharge  of  every  duty  enjoined  by  their  church,  which  seem,  in 
a great  measure,  to  atone  for  their  ignorance  and  bigotry.  But 
here  everything  is  hollow,  heartless,  and  unreal ; it  is  an  atmo- 
sphere which  withers  up  the  soul,  blights  every  religious  feeling, 
and  eats,  like  a canker,  into  the  very  core  of  our  spiritual  affec- 
tions. I could  love  Madame  d’Elfort,  with  all  her  strictness,  and 
her  hatred  of  Protestantism,  because  I know  her  to  be  sincerely 
devoted  to  what  she  believes  to  be  truth  ; but  1 cannot  look  with 
patience  at  Mademoiselle  Duvallon,  when  I reflect  that,  while 
professing  a purer  faith,  she  is  in  reality  devoid  of  everything  like 
religion.” 

“ You  are  too  warm,  my  dear  Lydia,”  replied  Emily  with  a 
srfiile  ; but  there  was  more  of  sadness  than  pleasure  in  that  smile. 
“ We  have,  indeed,  few  privileges  here,  for  we  do  not  even  hear  the 
gospel  preached  in  the  church,  as  we  had  the  happiness  of  doing 

at  S ; and  I acknowledge  that  nominal  Protestantism  is  not 

much  more  like  true  religion  than  Popery  itself.  But  let  us  not 
repine,  or  be  discontented;  if  we  are  cutoff*  from  the  streams 
of  spiritual  enjoyment,  let  us  draw  nearer  to  the  Fountain;  and, 
after  all,  I trust  the  time  of  our  sojourn  here  will  not  be  very  long.” 

It  was  not , indeed,  to  be  long,  although  neither  Emily  nor  Lydia 
anticipated  its  being  so  speedily  terminated.  Caroline  had  evinced 
much  dissatisfaction  with  her  present  situation  ; but  they  were 
not  aware  that  she  had  long  been  importuning  her  father  to  re- 
move them  at  the  end  of  the  first  quarter.  Mr  Howard  had  hith- 
erto held  out  against  her  entreaties;  but  at  length  he  yielded, 
on  condition  that  Lydia  and  Emily  accompanied  her.  Great, 
therefore,  was  their  astonishment,  when  she  informed  them  that 
she  had  obtained  her  father’s  sanction  to  their  becoming  boarders 

at  the  convent  of  St  Anne, — that  same  convent  near  S which 

they  had  once  visited  with  Mr.  Fortescue,  and  which  Sophia  Dor- 
ville  had  now  entered  as  a novice ! The  reasons  assigned  by 
Caroline  for  this  extraordinary  step  were  her  anxiety  to  enjoy  as 
much  of  her  friend’s  society  as  possible,  while  she  remained  in 
France ; her  wish  to  acquire  the  knowledge  of  several  beautiful 
kinds  of  needle-work,  for  which  the  nuns  were  particularly  famed ; 


THE  FRCNC'f  PROTESTANT  SCHOOL. 


101 


*nd  the  dislike  they  all  entertained  towards  the  heartless  system 
»f  merely  nominal  Protestaxitism  that  prevailed  in  their  present 
abode. 

Emily  and  Lydia  looked  *t  each  other,  and  could  not  help  ap- 
prehending that  there  were  other  and  weightier  reasons  for  so 
singular  a resolution.  They  hesitated  what  to  answer,  but  Caro- 
line, construing  their  silence  into  an  unwillingness  to  accede  to 
her  proposal,  exclaimed,  with  an  energy  that  startled  them  both, 

“ I may  as  well  tell  you  at  once,  that  I am  determined  to  remove 
to  St.  Anne's.  You  are  at  liberty  to  remain  here,  if  you  prefer  it ; 
but  my  decision  is  made  ; and,  as  I am  sure  my  father  will  not 
place  any  obstacle  in  the  way  of  his  daughter’s  happiness,  I shall 
depart  alone,  under  the  protection  of  Major  and  Mrs.  Fortescue, 
who  are  now  in  Paris,  and  will  not  refuse  to  take  me  with  them.” 

As  Caroline  uttered  these  words,  she  rose,  and,  as  if  to  prevent 
the  possibility  of  a reply,  instantly  left  the  room. 

“ I feared  it  would  be  so !”  exclaimed  Lydia,  bursting  into  tears ; 
“ my  poor  sister  has  been  so  fascinated  by  Sophia  Dorville,  and  the 
arts  of  the  papists,  that  she  will  finish  by  becoming  one  herself! 
Oh  ! how  I wish  papa  were  here,  that  I might  implore  him,  even 
on  my  knees,  to  prevent  her  rushing  into  further  danger ! but, 
alas  ! he  is  now  so  far  away,  that,  before  we  could  write  to  him, 
and  have  an  answer,  she  will  be  settled  at  the  convent,  and  the 
snares  of  popery  drawn  more  closely  th&n  ever  around  her.  What 
shall  we  do,  dearest  Emily/?  Do  advise  me,  for  I am  quite  be- 
wildered.” 

“ Let  us  seek  Divine  direction,  my  Lydia  ; let  us  seek  it  by  ear- 
nest prayer.  I feel  at  present  quite  as  incapable  of  deciding  as 
yourself;  but  we  will  talk  over  the  subject  tomorrow.” 

They  retired  to  bed,  but  not  to  sleep.  Lydia  spent  the  night  in 
tears  and  broken  petitions  ; Emily  in  self-examination,  self-accu- 
sation, and  earnest  prayer.  She  felt  that  she  had  been  blameably 
negligent,  or  rather  timid,  in  not  having  long  since  inquired  into 
her  cousin’s  sentiments,  and  used  every  endeavor  to  prevent  the 
errors  that  surrounded  her  from  acquiring  an  ascendency  over  her 
too  susceptible  mind.  She  had  allowed  an  overstrained  delicacy, 
and  the  pride  of  wounded  affection,  to  silence  her  tongue;  she  had 
suffered  herself  to  be  too  easily  repulsed,  and  had  thus  yielded  to 
another  that  influence  over  her  cousin’s  mind  and  affections, 
which  might  have  been  exerted  to  save  her  from  delusion.  And 
even  since  her  fears  had  been  frequently  excited,  she  had  been  but 
too  willing  to  persuade  herself  that  no  danger  existed  ; she  had 
shrunk  from  investigating  the  very  circumstances  which  she  felt 
to  be  alarming,  and  had  suffered  herself  to  be  deterred,  by  false 
and  visionary  hopes,  from  speaking  explicitly  to  her  uncle.  All 
these  causes  of  self-reproach  she  now  acknowledged  and  bitterly 
lamented.  She  earnestly  implored  forgiveness,  through  the  blood 


192 


THE  FRENCH  PROTESTANT  SCHOOI 


of  atonement,  and  the  guidance  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  to  direct  her 
future  proceedings. 

After  much  reflection,  deliberation,  and  prayer,  she  came  to  the 
resolution  of  sacrificing  her  own  wishes  and  feelings,  rather  than 
lose  the  opportunity  of  repairing  the  evil  she  had  thus  suffered  to 
increase.  Again  she  prayed  for  grace  and  strength  to  fulfil  her 
intention,  and  arose  in  the  morning,  with  a mind  somewhat  more 
composed. 

Lydia  also  rose  early,  and  sought  an  interview  with  her  cousin. 
The  traces  of  tears  and  anxiety  were  visible  on  both  their  coun 
tenances. 

“ What  have  you  decided  upon,  dear  Emily  ? What  do  you 
think  we  ought  to  do  ?” 

“ Were  your  father  near  us,  my  love,  I think  we  ought  to  exert 
ourselves  to  the  utmost,  in  order  to  persuade  him  to  prevent  Caro- 
line from  taking  this  dangerous  step  ; but  under  existing  circum- 
stances, I feel  it  to  be  our  duty  not  to  forsake  her.  She  seems 
immoveable  in  her  resolution,  and  I think  therefore,  we  had  better 
accompany  her,  as  we  may,  by  the  blessing  of  God,  become  the 
means  of  opening  her  eyes  to  the  errors  of  Popery,  and  prevent- 
ing her  from  being  still  further  entangled  in  its  snares.  I have 
cause  for  humiliation,  when  I reflect  on  the  supineness  and  neg- 
lect of  which  I have  been  guilty  towards  her;  and  it  is  my  earnest 
desire  and  prayer  that  I may  be  instrumental  in  repairing  the 
mischief.” 

“ If  you  feel  self-condemned,  Emily,  I have  great  reason  to  re- 
pent of  the  same  sin.  We  have  both  been  too  willing  to  believe 
that  all  was  right,  and  too  unwilling  to  intrude  into  Caroline’s 
confidence.  But  we  must  now  dismiss  that  false  delicacy,  and 
endeavor  to  snatch  her  from  the  delusions  of  Popery.  I tremble 
for  the  result  of  her  further  associating  with  Sophia  Dorville  ; I 
dread  her  influence,  and  that  of  the  nuns.  But  let  us,  as  you  say, 
go  with  her,  and  use  our  utmost  efforts  to  counteract  the  evil. 
There  is  one  danger,  however,  which  we  have  not  yet  con- 
templated. Shall  we  be  justified  in  exposing  Henrietta  and  Julia 
to  the  same  perils  that  we  dread  for  Caroline 

“ That  is  a subject  which  I had  not  considered!  It  certainly 
makes  our  responsibility  greater;  but  I am  sure  Caroline  would 
not  consent  to  their  being  left  behind ; we  must,  therefore,  trust  to 
the  blessing  of  God  on  our  endeavors  to  preserve  them  from 
the  fascinations  of  Popery. 

“ Oh ! that  my  father  were  here !”  exclaimed  Lydia,  clasping 
her  hands  with  passionate  earnestness,  “or  that  he  were  only 
where  a letter  could  reach  him  ! But  as  it  is,  we  have  no  choice, 
and  must  submit  to  circumstances.  Heaven  grant  in  mercy  that 
the  worst  may  now  be  over.” 

When  they  met  Caroline  in  the  morning,  she  looked  pale,  but 


THE  FRENCH  PROTESTANT  SCHOOL.  193 

reserved , and  inquired,  with  a strong  effort  to  be  calm,  “ whether 
they  had  decided  on  accompanying  her,  or  preferred  remaining  at 
Mademoiselle  Duvallon’s  %n 

“ We  shall  go  with  you,  dear  Caroline,”  replied  Lydia,  “ we 
shall  not  desert  you ; and  though  we  cannot  help  feeling  deeply 
grieved,  at  the  preference  you  thus  evince  for  a religion  which  is 
so  decidedly  unscriptural,  we  still  indulge  the  hope  that  your 
eyes  may  ere  long  be  opened  to  its  errors.” 

Caroline  was  startled  by  this  straightforward  observation  of 
Lydia,  and  replied,  with  considerable  embarrassment, 

“ What  can  possibly  make  you  talk  in  this  way,  Lydia  % What 
preference  have  I shown  to  the  Roman  Catholic  religion  ? Surely 
I may  love  a Roman  Catholic  friend,  without  embracing  her 
religion  ” 

“ Yes,  dear  Caroline,”  rejoined  Emily,  “but  you  cannot  deny 
that  you  are  at  present  but  too  favorably  disposed  towards  the 
Romish  church.  It  is  time  that  all  reserve  and  dissimulation 
should  cease  between  us ; and  we  must  insist  on  your  granting  us 
one  favor ; — let  us  examine  the  subject  together,  by  the  pure  and 
unerring  light  of  scripture.  If  it  cannot  bear  that  test,  remember 
it  is  not  of  God.  ‘ If  they  speak  not  according  to  this  word,  it  is 
because  there  is  no  light  in  them.’  ”• 

“ Be  it  so,”  said  Caroline,  hastily,  and  as  if  anxious  to  change 
the  subject,  “ and  now  I will  go  and  show  papa’s  letter  to  Mademoi- 
selle Duvailon,  and  make  preparations  for  our  departure.  I have 
written  to  Mrs.  Fortescue,  and  I dare  say  she  will  call  for  us  in  a 
day  or  two.” 

Emily  and  Lydia  could  not  help  wondering  at  the  rapidity  and 
decision  of  Caroline’s  proceedings.  They  had,  however,  no  time' 
to  lose,  and  immediately  set  about  the  preparations  necessary  for 
their  departure. 

Major  and  Mrs.  Fortescue  called  to  see  them  the  next  day,  and 
expressed  no  little  surprise  at  their  intended  removal  to  the  con- 
vent. Caroline  allege'd  the  reasons  she  had  already  given  to  her 
family ; but  these  kind  and  discriminating  friends  were  not  thus 
deceived.  They  remonstrated  on  the  imprudence  of  such  a pro- 
ceeding, were  it  only  with  reference  to  the  two  younger  girls ; 
but  Caroline  was  immoveable,  and  they  had  no  authority  to  inter- 
fere. Emily,  however,  confided  to  them  without  reserve,  her 
fears,  her  intention,  and  her  hopes,  and  received  from  them  the 
assurance  of  their  continued  sympathy,  assistance,  and  support. 

Their  departure  was  fixed  for  the  third  day,  and  the  cousins 
bade  farewell  to  Madame  Duvallon  and  her  establishment,  with- 
out one  sigh  of  regret.  They  had  met  with  nothing  there  to  in- 
terest their  feelings,  and  they  left  behind  them  no  sacred  recollec- 
tions, or  endearing  associations,  to  sadden  their  adieu. 

17 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 


THE  CONVENT. 

Forbidding  to  marry,  and  commanding  to  abstain  from  meats,  wh  ch  God 
hath  created  to  be  received  with  thanksgiving, — Tim.  iv.  9. 

Once  more  the  dark  walls  and  frowning  towers  of  S rose  to 

their  view  in  the  distance,  and  they  could  not  altogether  repress 
the  feelings  of  sweet,  yet  painful,  emotion  they  excited.  These 
feelings  were  of  various  kinds,  according  to  the  different  minds  in 
which  they  arose.  Lydia  thought  of  the  joy  of  Helen,  and  their 
mutual  delight  on  meeting  again ; but  her  heart  sunk  in  despond- 
ency, as  she  cast  a glance  on  the  future,  and  pictured  a thousand 
evils,  as  resulting  from  their  residence  at  the  convent.  The  gentle 
form  of  Rose,  also,  rose  before  the  eyes  of  Emily ; but  it  was  a 
mournful  vision,  and  she  turned  from  it  to  the  contemplation  of 
the  difficult  duties  which  now  devolved  upon  her.  She  fearfully 
asked  herself  the  question,  “ Who  is  sufficient  for  these  things  V * 
but  she  felt,  at  the  same  time,  some  encouragement  from  the 
promise,  “ My  grace  is  sufficient  for  thee,  for  my  strength  is  made 
perfect  in  weakness.” 

They  were  to  remain  at  the  Major’s  till  the  second  day,  when 
Mr.  Fortescue  had  kindly  promised  to  accompany  them  to  the 
convent.  Lydia  immediately  despatched  a note  to  her  friend 
Helen,  to  inform  her  of  theif  arrival,  promising,  at  the  same  time, 
to  see  her  on  the  following  morning.  But  what  was  her  surprise, 
when  the  messenger  returned,  with  the  information  that  Miss 
Douglas  had  been  gone  about  a week  from  Madame  d’Elfort’s,  her 
parents  having  sent  for  her,  in  consequence  of  the  delicate  state  of 
her  health,  which  had  been  declining  for  the  last  three  months ! 
This  was  a severe  disappointment  to  Lydia ; but  she  comforted 
herself  with  the  reflection,  that  her  beloved  'Helen  was  now  happy 
in  the  enjoyment  of  home-comforts,  and  that  she  should  no  doubt 
soon  hear  from  her. 

Emily  thought  it  a duty  she  owed  to  Madame  d’Elfort,  to  wait 
on  that  lady;  and  explain  the  cause  of  their  entering  the  convent. 
This  she  did  without  reserve,  and  without  concealing  her  repug- 
nance to  the  arrangement.  Madame  d’Elfort  received  her  with 
the  utmost  kindness,  and  expressed  a hope  that  she  would  come 
very  often  to  see  her ; but  Emily  could  not  determine,  either  from 
her  countenance  or  her  manner,  whether  she  was  pleased  or  other- 
wise with  the  intelligence  she  had  communicated. 

They  now  proceeded  to  the  convent,  and  saw  the  same  religieute 
they  had  before  conversed  with.  She  expressed  the  greatest 
pleasure  at  their  intention  of  becoming  inmates  of  the  house,  and, 


THE  CONVENT. 


195 


after  some  conversation,  called  the  lady  who  presided  over  the 
school  department,  a dignified  religieu&e , with  whom  all  the  neces- 
sary preliminaries  were  soon  arranged.  Caroline  had  inquired 
for  her  friend  Sophie,  but  had  been  told  she  was  engaged  in  the 
chapel.  Thither  they  now  repaired,  though  without  the  least 
expectation  of  seeing  her.  As  they  approached  it,  their  ears  were 
agreeably  saluted  by  the  full  rich  tones  of  the  organ,  blended  with 
the  soft  melody  of  a female  voice,  which  they  instantly  recognized 
as  that  of  Sophie.  She  was  practising  an  anthem  for  the  next 
saint’s  day;  the  small  gallery  in  which  she  sat  was  screened  from 
the  prying  eye  of  curiosity,  by  a high  curtain  of  crimson  cloth : 
but  the  visitors  stood  beneath  it,  and  listened  in  rapt  admiration 
to  the  soul-subduing  strains  of  the  music.  It  Was  one  of  those 
spells  which  no  heart,  endowed  with  sensibility,  could  resist ; and 
they  remained  as  if  chained  to  the  spot,  till  the  swelling  notes  of 
the  organ  gradually  sunk  into  silence,  and  the  sweet  voice  died 
away  in  one  long,  thrilling  cadence.  Soon  after,  the  shutting  of  a 
door  announced  the  departure  of  the  musician,  and  left  them  at 
leisure  to  examine  the  small  chapel  in  which  they  now  w*ere.  It 
was  not  splendid,  but  was  decorated  with  exquisite  -taste ; the 
altar-piece  was  a magnificent  painting  of  the  resurrection,  and  on 
each  side  of  it  were  two  others,  the  one  representing  St.  Anne,  as 
engaged  in  the  instruction  of  children,  and  the  other  a nun  in  the 
dress  of  the  Ursuline  order.  Around  a figure  of  the  Virgin  were 
suspended  innumerable  relics  of  various  kinds,  and  some  of  which 
it  was  not  easy  to  guess  the  nature,  intermixed  with  offerings  of 
different  value,  but  generally  handsome  and  costly.  Several  other 
pictures  were  hung  about  the  chapel,  and  the  altar-cloth,  being 
the  work  of  the  nuns,  was  elegantly  embroidered.  A few  old  men 
and  poor  women  were  kneeling  in  different  parts  of  the  chapel, 
very  busily  counting  their  beads,  yet  not  so  deeply  engaged  as  to 
prevent  their  looking  at  the  strangers,  with  a curiosity  which  soon 
changed  into  displeasure,  when  they  perceived  that  they  neither 
knelt  nor  crossed  themselves. 

Caroline  then  expressed  a wish  to  return  to  the  parlor,  as  she 
thought  they  could  now  see  Sophie  ; and  the  rest  of  the  party  did 
not  oppose  her  desire.  Sister  Sophie  immediately  obeyed  the 
summons,  and  it  was  curious  to  observe  the  meeting  of  the  two 
friends.  They  could  not  embrace,  for  a double  grating  interposed 
between  them,  through  which  they  could  but  just  touch  each 
other’s  fingers ; and  Caroline  though  fully  prepared  for  the  change, 
could  scarcely  repress  a start,  at  the  sight  of  Sophie  in  a novice’s 
dress.  The  latter  expressed  the  greatest  delight  at  the  prospect 
of  their  spending  some  time  together,  and,  after  a short  conversa- 
tion, the  party  returned  to  Mrs.  Fortescue’s. 

The  next  morning  they  bade  the  good  Major  farewell,  and  pro- 
ceeded with  Mrs.  Foitescue  to  the  convent.  They  were  received 


m 


THE  CONVENT. 


in  the  parlor  by  the  superior4,  a tall,  majestic  woman,  who  Was  dis- 
tinguished from  the  other  nuns  by  the  imposing  stateliness  of  her 
carriage,  and  by  a long  rosary  of  gold  beads,  to  which  was  attach- 
ed a cross  of  considerable  value.  She  received  the  new  comers 
in  the  most  gracious  manner,  paid  them  a few  flattering,  but  deli- 
cate compliments,  and  then  summoned  Sophie  to  the  grate  to  wel- 
come her  friends.  After  a little  more  conversation,  the  inner  door 
of  the  convent  was  opened,  and  Mrs.  Fortescue  bade  her  young 
charges  farewell  on  the  threshold.  Emily  and  Lydia  could  not 
repress  a shudder  of  apprehension,  as  they  embraced  this  kind 
friend,  and  then  watched  hej  retreating  steps  5 but  Caroline  and 
Sophie  were  joyfully  locked  in  each  other’s  arms,  and  Henrietta 
and  Julia  seemed  delighted  at  the  novelty  of  their  situation. 

When  Mrs.  Fortescue  was  no  longer  visible,  the  ponderous  door 
was  shut  and  secured  by  the  portress  with  the  greatest  care. 
Emily’s  heart  involuntarily  sank  within  her,  as  she  listened  to  the 
creaking  and  grating*of  the  massive  bolts  and  bars;  again  she 
shuddered,  and  clasped  her  hands  in  silent  prayer.  Lydia  seemed 
not  less  startled  by  the  ominous  sound ; she  stooped  suddenly, 
and  looked  as  if  she  wTas  determined  Jo  go  back;  then,  conquering 
her  emotion  by  a strong  effort,  grasped  Emily’s  hand  with  almost 
convulsive  energy,  and  proceeded.  Even  the  two  little  girls  were 
terrified  for*a  moment,  and  clung  to  their  cousin,  as  if  for  protec- 
tion. The  gloomy  aspect  of  the  cloisters  and  corridors  through 
which  they  passed,  was  not  calculated  to  cheer  their  spirits,  and 
they  tremblingly  followed  the  steps  of  the  superieure  and  Sophie, 
with  whom  Caroline  was  engaged  in  earnest  conversation.  At 
length,  however,  they  were  shown  into  two  apartments,  of  a some- 
what more  pleasing  description.  They  were  small,  and  scantily 
furnished  as  bed-rooms  ; but  they  overlooked  a garden  of  consider- 
able size  and  great  beauty,  and  commanded  a rather  extensive 
view  of  a rich  and  varied  landscape.  The  first  room  was  intended 
for  Caroline,  the  other  for  Emily  and  Lydia.  Henrietta  and  Julia 
were  to  sleep  in  a larger  room,  which  was  already  occupied  by 
several  other  boarders. 

“ I think,”  said  the  superieure,  with  an  evident  attempt  at  conde- 
scension, “ you  will  find  everything  here  that  is  necessary  for  your 
accommodation ; and  we  have  an  excellent  library,  from  which  I 
shall  be  happy  to  lend  you  books,  whenever  you  feel  inclined  to 
read.  In  the  mean  time,  as  soon  as  you  have  taken  off  your  bon- 
nets, I shall  introduce  you  to  Miss  Smithson,  a countrywoman  of 
yours,  who  takes  the  drawing  department  in  the  school,  and  ^ also 
to  Mrs.  Brownlow,  another  English  lady,  who  has  now  been  2 
long  time  residing  with  us  as  a boarder.” 

The  visitors  bowed  in  acknowledgment,  and  followed  the  stately 
lady  down  stairs,  to  a school-room  of  large  dimensions,  in  which 
were  several  young  ladies  of  different  ages,  and  two  or  three  of  the 


THE  CONVENT. 


197 


nuns,  whose  task  it  was  to  preside  over  their  studies.  . To  these 
they  were  presented,  as  well  as  to  Miss  Smithson  ; but  they  could 
not  help  observing  how*  differently  they  were  received  by  these 
ladies.  The  nuns  were  kind  and  affable,  while  Miss  Smithson’r 
manner  was  cold,  haughty,  and  even  contemptuous.  The  pupili 
greeted  them  with  a general  stare,  and  they  were  glad  when  the} 
followed  the  superieure  out  of  the  room.  She  led  them  into  the 
garden,  where  she  again  introduced  them  to  Mrs.  Brownlow,  a 
pleasing  elderly  lady,  whose  address  immediately  prepossessed 
them  in  her  favor.  Soon  after  la  mere  Sainte  Helene,  the  superior 
of  the  school,  coming  up  to  them,  Madame  la  Superieure  resigned 
the  new  comers  to  her  care,  and,  with  a bow  of  lofty  courtesy, 
retired. 

They  spent  a part  of  the  day  with  Mrs.  Brownlow,  from  whom 
they  learned  a great  many  particulars  respecting  the  establish- 
ment. This  lady  was  a widow  of  small  fortune,  who  had  chosen 
the  convent  for  her  residence,  on  account  of  its  cheapness,  and  its 
quiet  seclusion  She  was,  however,  a Protestant,  at  least  in  pro- 
fession, though  deeply  tinctured  with  that  fatal  spirit  of  liberalism, 
which  considers  all  religions  as  very  nearly  alike,  4r  in  them- 
selves indifferent.  On  their  inquiring  the  reason  why  Miss  Smith- 
son  did  not  take  the  boarders  to  ’church,  as  she  seemed  to  be 
engaged  in  the  school,  Mrs.  Brownlow  replied,  that  that  lady  was 
a Roman  Catholic,  having  become  one  since  her  residence  at  the 
convent,  whither  she  had  been  sent  for  her  education. 

Emily  inquired  whether  this  was  not  frequently  the  conse- 
quence of  being  educated  there. 

“ Very  frequently,”  replied  Mrs.  Brownlow,  “ and  it  can  scarcely 
be  otherwise,  when  children  are  sent  hither,  without  any  one  to 
take  care  of  them.  The  nuns  are  very  skilful  in  making  converts, 
and  the  Catholic  ceremonies  very  well  calculated  to  captivate  the 
minds  of  young  people.  There  are  two  or  three  little  girls  here, 
who  are  nearly  converted,  and  they  are  the  only  Protestants  in 
the  convent,  except  one  young  lady  of  about  thirteen,  who  has 
not  been  long  here,  and  is  indisposed  to-day.  The  others  are  all 
children  of  Roman  Catholic  parents.” 

“ I should  think,”  observed  Emily,  C(  that  you,  madame,  might 
have  some  influence  in  counteracting  the  ill-effects  produced  on 
the  minds  of  those  poor  children.” 

“ Oh,  dear,  no !”  replied  Mrs.  Brownlow,  “ I am  no  bigot, — I 
never  interfere.  I have  no  doubt  the  Catholics  are  as  sincere  as 
ourselves,  in  the  exercise  of  their  religion ; there  are  good  and  bad 
people  in  all  religions  ,•  and  I believe  that  all  those  who  act  up 
conscientiously  to  the  best  of  their  knowledge,  will  be  equally 
accepted  by  God.” 

“ But,  my  dear  madam,”  observed  Emily,  “ God  has  revealed 
his  will  explicitly  in  his  Word,  and  if  we  see  our  fellow-creatures 

17* 


198 


THE  CONVENT. 


in  danger  of  being  misled,  by  a system  which  is  directly  opposed 
to  that  word,  by  which  he  himself  has  declared  ‘we  shall  be 
judged  at  the  last  day,’ — is  it  not  our  duty  to  endeavor,  at  least,  to 
warn  them  against  the  delusion  V* 

“ Well!”  replied  Mrs.  Brownlow,  “it  is  no  business  of  mine  to 
examine  into  the  merits  of  the  different  systems.  I dislike  bigotry, 
and  have  the  greatest  horror  of  controversy.  If  people  will  expose 
their  children  to  the  danger  of  error,  they  must  take  the  conse- 
quences. I would  not  interfere  on  any  account,  and  I strongly 
advise  you  not  to  attempt  it  either,  for  I assure  you  it  .would  be 
taken  very  ill.” 

“The  Roman  Catholics,  then,”  observed  Lydia,  “are  not  so  in- 
different on  the  subject ; for,  by  your  account  of  the  matter,  they 
are  very  anxious  to  make  proselytes.” 

w Oh ! yes,  they  are  indeed, — they  do  everything  they  can,  with 
out  absolutely  infringing  on  the  liberty  of  the  children.  But  the 
greatest  bigot  in  the  house  is  decidedly  Miss  Smithson,— indeed, 
she  is  almost  beyond  endurance.  She  is  perfectly  furious  against 
Protestantism,  and  cannot  even  speak  of  it  without  abuse.  The 
only  way  to  be  at  peace  with  her,  is  never  to  mention  the  subject, 
either  to  her,  or  in  her  hearing.” 

The  conversation  was  now  interrupted,  by  their  being  sum- 
moned to  dinner.  They  took  this  meal  in  a large  hall,  with  the 
rest  of  the  boarders,  and  the  whole  communaute  of  nuns,  about 
thirty  in  number.  All  conversation  was  prevented,  during  the 
repast,  by  one  of  the  nuns  reading  aloud,  from  a book  containing 
the  lives  of  several  saints  of  the  Romish  church.  The  pupils  were 
then  allowed  to  play  or  walk  in  the  garden  for  an  hour,  and  saw 
no  more  of  the  nuns  till  supper,  with  the  exception  of  those  whose 
peculiar  province  it  was*  to  attend  to  the  school  duties.  These 
were  four  in  number, — la  mere  Sainte  Helene,  la  mere  Sainte  Eu- 
phrasie,  la  sceur  Sainte  Anne,  and  la  sceur  Constance.  The  two 
former  were  somewhat  advanced  in  life ; sister  St.  Anne  was  a 
blooming,  lively  girl,  of  eighteen,  who  took  charge  of  the  younger 
pupils ; and  sister  Constance  immediately  struck  Emily  and  Lydia, 
as  being  peculiarly  interesting  in  her  appearance.  She  was  ap- 
parently about  twenty,  her  form  slight  and  fragile,  and  the  deli- 
cacy of  her  complexion  indicated  a precarious  state  of  health 
There  was  an  expression  of  thoughtfulness,  and  melancholy  sweet- 
ness, in  her  countenance,  which  at  once  touched  the  heart,  and 
riveted  the  affections.  She  was  much  beloved  by  the  pupils,  arid 
seemed  to  be  stationed  among  them,  principally  on  account  of  the 
influence  she  always  acquired  over  their  minds. 

In  the  course  of  the  afternoon,  Lydia  formed  an  acquaintance 
with  Miss  Somers,  the  English  girl  she  had  not  seen  that  morn- 
ing. She  seemed  amiable  and  gentle,  though,  as  might  naturally 
be  expected,  devoid  of  everything  like  religious  principle.  She 


THE  CONVENT. 


199 


had  been  about  three  months  at  the  convent,  and  gave  the 
new  comers  much  information,  concerning  the  discipline  and 
habits  of  the  society  in  which  they  were  now  to  move. 

They  again  met  the  nuns  at  supper,  when  the  reading  was  re- 
sumed ; and  they  were  then  obliged  to  kneel,  during  the  recitation 
of  a long  string  of  prayers,  similar  to  those  they  had  been  in  the 
habit  of  hearing  at  Madame  d’Elfort’s.  The  sleeping  apartments 
of  the  boarders,  who  were  seventeen  in  number,  occupied  one  side 
of  the  square  which  composed  the  convent,  and  were  directly 
over  the  lower  apartments  appropriated  to  the  school.  They  ran 
along  a corridor  of  considerable  length,  separated  from  the  other 
side  of  the  building  by  a door  of  massive  strength.  The  two  elder 
nuns  slept  one  at  each  end  of  this  corridor,  in  small  cells  similar 
to  those  of  the  other  religieuses , and  furnished  only  with  a hard 
mattress,  a chair,  and  a small  table,  on  which  were  placed  a cruci- 
fix and  an  hour-glass. 

Emily’s  rest  was  disturbed  several  times  during  the  night,  by 
hearing  the  nuns  going  to,  and  returning  from,  their  nocturnal 
services,  in  the  chapel.  Her  reflections  were  painful,  and  tended 
greatly  to  depress  her  mind;  but  on  rising  in  the  morning,  she  and 
Lydia.,  after  earnest  prayer,  arranged  a plan  of  affectionate  surveil- 
lance over  Caroline,  Henrietta,  and  Julia- 

They  now  commenced  their  studies  in  regular  order,  though 
the  three  elder  cousins  were  only  a few  hours  each  day  in  the 
school-room.  Emily  and  Lydia  were  delighted  to  find  that  they 
were  to  be  under  the  tuition  of  sister  Constance  for  Italian,  music, 
and  embroidery,  as  it  would  give  them  frequent  opportunities  of 
conversing  with  this  interesting  nun,  whose  appearance  and  man- 
ners had  made  so  pleasing  an  impression  on  their  minds ; and  they 
were  not  disappointed  in  the  hopes  they  had  entertained  respect- 
ing her  character.  She  became  every  day  more  endearing  to  their 
hearts,  and  seemed  to  return  their  attachment  with  answering 
affection.  There  was  much  in  her  that  reminded  Emily  of  her 
beloved  friend,  Rose  ; and  the- deep  fervor  of  her  religious  feelings 
was  evidently  heightened  by  the  consciousness  that,  for  her,  the 
things  of  time  would  soon  pass  away,  and  give  place  to  the  solemn, 
the  momentous  realities  of  eternity.  Emily  felt  for  her  a sympa- 
thy and  tenderness  she  could  not  express  *,  and  often  would  a sigh 
escape  her,  as  she  thought  of  the  darkness  and  error  that  shrouded 
a mind,  which  seemed  panting  for  the  glorious  light  and  liberty  of 
the  gospel. 

They  saw  little  of  the  other  nuns,  although  they  constantly 
dined  and  supped  with  them  in  the  refectory.  Their  hours  of  re- 
creation were  different,  and  they,  therefore,  never  met  them  in  the 
garden  at  that  time;  but  they  could  see  them  from  their  bed-room 
windows,  and  Emily,  Caroline,  and  Lydia,  were  indulged  by  the 
fruperieure  with  permission  to  join  them  sometimes  in  their  garden- 


200 


CONVENT  SCENES. 


walks.  Of  this  privilege  Caroline  always  availed  herself  to  con- 
verse with  her  friend  Sophie ; but  Emily  and  Lydia,  having  but 
little  knowledge  of  any  one  there,  seldom  entered  the  garden  at 
that  time.  They  sometimes  met  with  one  or  two  of  the  nuns  in 
the  corridors,  gliding  along  with  a swiftness  and  silence,  that  gave 
a peculiar  air  of  mystery  and  romance  to  the  rencontre ; hut  farther 
than  these  occasional  meetings,  their  acquaintance  did  not  ex- 
tend and  they  knew  as  l-ittle  of  what  passed  in  the  house,  beyond 
the  immediate  precincts  of  the  school  department,  as  if  they  had 
resided  in  a totally  different  building.  They  could  not  help  no- 
ticing, sometimes,  that  one  or  other  of  the  nuns  was  absent  from 
the  public  meals,  and  that,  perhaps,  for  several  days ; and  they 
conjectured  that  some  penance  imposed,  or  punishment  inflicted, 
might  be  the  cause  of  their  seclusion.  They  frequently  saw  them 
kneeling  for  hours  together  in  the  chapel,  and  knew  that  they  were 
sometimes  obliged  to  remain  there  the  whole  night ; but  what  the 
faults  were,  for  which  they  were  thus  required  to  atone,  or  what 
were  the  internal  management  and  economy  of  the  convent,  they 
were  totally  ignorant.  A thousand  acts  of  oppression,  of  tyranny, 
and  even  cruelty,  might  have  been  perpetrated  within  those  avails, 
without  being  known  to  any,  but  their  actors  and  their  victims. 
The  dungeons  might  have  been  filled  with  miserable  captives, 
and  the  unhappy  objects  of  persecution  dragged  to  the  most  horri- 
ble fate,  without  one  groan  of  suffering,  or  one  shriek  of  terror, 
penetrating  the  solid  walls  and  ^ponderous  doors  of  this  immense 
building.  Emily  shuddered,  as  she  thought  of  this,  and  prayed 
that  her  cousins  might  be  preserved  from  the  delusions  of  a sys- 
tem, which  gloried  in  annihilating  the  strongest  ties  of  nature,  and 
profaned  the  sacred  name  of  religion,  by  associating  it  with  cruelty 
and  oppression.' 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

CONVENT  SCENES. 

To  the  law  and  to  iho  testimony  ; if  they  speak  not.  according  to  this  word,  it 
is  because  there  is  no  light  in  them— Isaiah,  viii.  20. 

The  cousins  had  stipulated,  before  they  entered  the  convent,  that 
they  should  be  allowed  to  attend  the  Protestant  chapel  every  Sun- 
day morning.  This  had  not  been  granted  without  difficulty,  ns 


CONVENT  SCENES. 


201 


the  boarders  at  St.  Anne’s  were  required  to  join  in  the  services  of 
the  convent  chapel.  But  Emily  and  Lydia  were  firm  in  their  re- 
solution, and  the  point  was,  at  length,  conceded,  with  the  under- 
standing that  Mrs.  Fortescue,  or  Mrs.  Brownlow,  should  always 
be  their  companions.  The  last-named  lady  expressed  great  sur- 
prise at  this  permission,  and  considerable  doubt  as  to  its  being. con- 
tinued; and  Clara  Somers  informed  Lydia  that  she,  and  seve- 
ral other  young  ladies,  had  been  promised,  on  their  first  coming, 
the  liberty  of  going  to  see  some  friends  every- second  Sunday,  in 
order  that  the)  might  attend  the  English  chapel;  but  that  this 
promise  had  since  been  withdrawn,  and  they  had  been  compelled 
to  join  in  the  Roman  Catholic  service.  Emily  and  Lydia  felt 
some  alarm  at  this  intelligence ; but  they  had,  as  yet,  had  no  rea- 
son to  distrust  the  w’ord  of  the  superieure,  and  therefore  only  re 
solved  to  be  doubly  on  their  guard.  Hery^ietta  and  Julia  had, 
hitherto,  been  allowed  to  absent  themselves  from  the  daily  mass 
in  the  chapel,  and  to  decline  joining  in  anything  that  was  contrary 
to  the  principles  in  which  they  had  been  brought  up,  though  all 
the  other  Protestant  children  were  subject  to  the  same  rules  as 
the  Roman  Catholics.  How  long  this  exemption  might  be  con- 
tinued, it  was  impossible  to  determine ; but,  for  the  present,  no 
undue  control  was  exercised  over  them. 

The  Sunday  came,  and  they  were  allowed  to  go  to  chapel  with 
Mrs.  Brownlow.  They  saw  Mrs.  Fortescue  for  a few  minutes, 
and  she  promised  to  visit  them  in  the  course  of  the  week.  They 
then  returned  to  St.  Anne’s,  and  Emily  availed  herself  of  the  after- 
noon to  give  some  religious  instruction  to  Henrietta  and  Julia. 
All  the  Protestants  then  assembled  in  the  garden,  and  had  a great 
deal  of  conversation,  which  Emily  endeavored  to  direct  to  profita- 
ble subjects. 

It  was  truly  deplorable  to  witness  the  absolute  influence  which 
had  been  obtained  over  the  minds  of  these  little  girls.  Clara 
Somers  was  the  only  one  who  seemed  dissatisfied  with  the  yoke 
laid  upon  her.  Two  of  the  others  were  orphans,  and  the  third  an 
officer’s  daughter,  whose  parents  had  removed  to  another  town. 
They  were  entirely  under  the  spiritual  control  of  the  nuns  and 
their  confessor,  and  going  through  the  regular  routine  of  a Popish 
education. 

Fanny  and  Mary  Lowe,  the  orphans,  v&ere  eight  and  nine  years 
of  age,  and  Ellen  Wilton  was  about  ten.  Their  extreme  youth 
gave  the  most  decided  advantage  to  the  priests  and  nuns  ; and  cer- 
tainly no  pains  were  spared  to  improve  it  .to  the  utmost.  It  was 
probably  owing  to  her  being  somewhat  older,  and  of  a more  inde- 
pendent character,  that  Clara  Somers  manifested  less  docility  than 
they  did.  She  was  too  old  to  be  enticed  with  sweetmeats,  pic- 
tures, and  bon-bons ; and  having  discovered  that  there  was  a 
scheme  formed,  of  which  she  was  the  object,  her  pride  was  alarm- 


202 


CONVENT  SCENES. 


V 


ed,  and  her  spirit  roused  to  resistance.  It  could  not  be  the  result 
of  principle,  for  the  poor  girl  was  entirely  ignorant  on  the  subject 
of  religion,  and  could  not  give  any  reason  for  her  aversion  to 
Popery ; but  so  providentially  was  this  feeling  overruled  for  her 
preservation,  that  while  her  young  companions  were  conducted 
every  morning  to  the  confessor’s  room,  while  he  was  at  breakfast, 
and  there  bribed,  with  presents  and  caresses,  to  listen  to  his  in 
structions,  and  promise  obedience  to  all  his  directions,  neither 
threats  nor  promises  could  induce  her  to  go  further  in  compliance 
than  was  absolutely  required  by  the  rules  of  the  school. 

All  this  she  told  Emily  and  Lydia,  and  added,  that  the  nuns 
were  now  earnestly  engaged  in  preparing  the  three  little  ones  for 
auricular  confession,  to  which  they  were  to  be  admitted  in  a few 
weeks. 

“ They  have  done  all  they  could,”  added  Clara,  “ to  persuade  me 
to  confess  also  ; but*I  will  never  do  it,  though  they  nave  threat- 
ened to  compel  me.  Papa  is  now  travelling,  but  I expect  him 
back  shortly ; and  when  I tell  him  of  the  way  in  which  they  have 
behaved,  I am  sure  he  will  take  me  away  immediately.” 

Emily  and  Lydia,  of  course,  encouraged  her  in  her  resolutions, 
and  endeavored  to  make  it  a matter  of  principle  with  her,  by 
pointing  out  some  of  the  most  glaring  errors  of  Popery,  and  show- 
ing her  how  utterly  incompatible  they  were  with  the  doctrines 
of  Scripture.  But,  to  their  great  surprise  and  sorrow,  they  found 
that  poor  Clara  had  not  a Bible,  and,  indeed,  scarcely  knew  what 
kind  of  a book  it  was  ! # %-  ‘ 

Caroline  was  now  a source  of  the  greatest  anxiety  to  her  sister 
and  cousin.  They  had  tried  in  vain,  since  their  arrival  at  the 
convent,  to  win  her  attention  to  what  they  earnestly  wished  her 
to  engage  in, — a candid  examination  of  the  points  in  dispute,  by 
the  unerring  light  of  Scripture.  But  as  soon  as  the  subject  was 
introduced,  she  always  contrived  to  evade  it ; and  when,  at  length, 
after  some  weeks’  fruitless  trial,  Emily  solemnly  and  affectionately 
entreated  her  to  turn  her  attention  to  it,  and  to  lay  aside  all  eva- 
sion and  subterfuge,  she  openly  declared  her  determination  not 
to  enter  into  any  discussion,  adding,  that  she  should  consider  it  as 
a personal  favor,  not  to  be  any  longer  importuned  on  the  subject. 

Emily  and  Lydia,  with  a deep-drawn  sigh,  gave  up  the  subject, 
but  resolved  to  write  a sq^ond  time  to  Mr.  Howard,  and  to  urge  upon 
him,  with  still  greater  earnestness  and  entreaty,  the  necessity  of 
fiis  exerting  his  authority  to  remove  them  from  a sphere  so  im- 
minently dangerous.  Th<^  were  still  more  anxious  for  the  suc- 
cess of  their  application,  from  observing  that  Caroline  was  gra- 
dually adopting  many  customs  inconsistent  with  a profession  of 
Protestantism,  and  had  sanctioned  her  younger  sisters’  being  re- 
quired to  use  the  sign  of  the  cross  in  tne  school-room,  to  attend 
mass  in  the  morning,  and  conform  to  all  the  usages  to  which  tho 


CONVENT  SCENES. 


203 


ether  boarders  were  subjected.  Since  Caroline  had  thus  decided, 
Emily  and  Lydia  could  not  interfere ; but  many  were  the  tears 
they  shed,  fervent  the  prayers  they  offered  up  for  Divine  interpo- 
sition, apd  urgent  the  entreaties  they  forwarded  to  Mr.  Howard, 
that  he  would  hasten  to  rescue  his  children  from  the  perils  which 
on  every  side  surrounded  them.  No  letters  had  been  received 

from  him  since  their  return  to  S , and  every  succeeding  day 

increased  their  uneasiness  on  his  account,  as  well  as  their  own. 

In  the  mean  time,  Emily  had  to  endure  many  violent  attack* 
from  Miss  Smithson,  the  English  teacher  of  drawing.  That  lady 
began  by  attempting  to  throw  every  species  of  ridicule  on  Pro- 
testantism and  the  Reformation,  and  to  blacken  the  character  of 
the  Reformers. 

“ Where  was  your  religion,”  she  triumphantly  inquired,  “before 
the  time  of  Henry  the  Eighth  ? And  what  was  it  which  led  him 
to  tprsake  the  true  church  % Only  the  criminal  passion  he  enter- 
tained for  Anna  Boleyn,  and  the  wish  to  rid  himself  of  his  unof- 
fending wife,  that  he  might  be  enabled  to  gratify  it!  A worthy 
motive,  truly,  for  inventing  a new  religion  ! Surely,  you  have  no 
reason  to  be  proud  of  the  origin  of  Protestantism,  or  the  charac- 
ter of  its  notorious  founder.” 

“ Henry  the  Eighth  was  not  the  founder  of  Protestantism,”  re- 
plied Emily,  “ he  was  but  the  instrument  of  establishing  what 
had  existed  many  centuries  before  him.  He  was  a wicked,  cTuel, 
unprincipled  tyrant,  without  any  sentiment  of  religion,  or  re- 
straint of  moral  feeling.  But  the  Protestant  cause  is  not  to  be 
identified  with  him  ; a host  of  glorious  witnesses  had  long  before 
attested  its  truth,  and  many  of  them  had  sealed  their  testimony 
with  their  blood.  I need  not  remind  you  of  the  venerable  Wick- 
liffe  and  his  followers,  or  of  the  persecuted  Vaudois  and  Albigen- 
ses ; indeed,  there  have  always  been,  since  the  introduction  of 
Popery,  some  faithful  Christians,  who  have  protested  against  its 
errors.  And  when  you  speak  of  the  bad  motives  of  Henry,  you 
should  not  forget  that,  if  he  was  actuated  by  them,  his  people  were 
not ; nor  were  the  multitudes  in  other  countries,  who  embraced  the 
reformed  faith.  They  cannot  be  attributed  to  Luther,  to  .Calvin, 
Melancthon,  or  to  ‘ the  noble  army  of  martyrs,’ — to  Cranmer, 
Latimer,  Ridley,  and  Bradford,  and  the  blessed  company  of  others, 
who  ‘ loved  not  their  lives  unto  the  death,’  but  suffered  the  most 
cruel  persecutions  for  the  truth,  and  finally  ‘ resisted  unto  blood.’  ” 

“ Oh ! pray,”  exclaimed  Miss  Smithson  contemptuously,  “ do 
not  bring  forward  your  Reformers  as  authority;  your  Luther,  Cal- 
vin, and  company,  were  men  of  the  very  worst  character,  and 
most  shameful  conduct.  I will  lend  you  their  lives  to  read,  and 
also  a history  of  the  Reformation,  which  shows  it  in  its  true 
light;  and  I am  sure  you  will  then  be  ashamed  to  acknowledge 
the  men  of  whom  you  have  now  so  high  an  opinion.” 


204 


CONVENT  SCENES. 


“ Excuse  me,  Miss  Smithson,  but  I will  not  read  the  books  you 
mention.  I have  read  the  lives  of  the  Reformers,  as  written  by 
historians  of  undoubted  veracity,  and  historical  accounts  of  the 
Reformation,  from  the  pens  of  impartial  narrators.  I believe  the 
Reformers  to  have  been  men  of  like  passions  with  others,  and  but 
lately  emerged  fr^m  a state  of  great  darkness  ; but,  as  far  as  the 
weakness  and  infirmities  of  human  nature,  and  the  partial  obscu- 
rity of  remaining  error,  would  allow,  sincerely  desirous  to  pro 
mote  the  glory  of  God,  and  to  glorify  Him  themselves  by  a holy 
life  and  conversation.  But,  even  supposing  they  had  all  been  as 
worthless  as  you  would  insinuate,  and  as  I confess  Henry  the 
Eighth  was,  that  circumstance  would  in  no  wise  affect  the  truth 
of  Protestantism;  for  it  is  not  founded  on  the  character  of  its 
promoters,  but  on  the  sure  word  of  God.” 

A laugh  of  derision  was,  for  some  time,  Miss  Smithson’s  only 
answer.  At  length  she  offered  to  lend  Emily  Bossuet’s  “ Cha- 
racter of  the  Catholic  Religion,”  which,  she  was  sure,  could 
hardly  fail  of  convincing  her. 

“ I have  read,”  replied  Emily,  “ a work  which,  I suppose,  is 
very  similar, — ; Le  Genie  du  Christianisme,’  by  that  celebrated 
and  highly  talented  author,  Chateaubriand ; but  all  the  splendor 
of  his  eloquence  has  failed  to  convince  me  of  the  truth  of  his  as- 
sertions, or  the  solidity  of  his  reasoning.  It  was  lent  me  by  Ma- 
dame Dorville,  in  the  hope  that  it  might  produce  an  impression 
favorable  to  your  church ; but  it  only  served  to  show  me  how 
dangerous  is  the  system,  which  he  so  warmly  and  so  ingeniously 
advocates.” 

“ You  Protestants  are  all  unreasonable,”  exclaimed  Miss  Smith- 
son,  impatiently,  “you  look  at  everything  through  the  colored 
spectacles  of  partiality  and  prejudice.” 

“ I am  willing,”  replied  Emily,  “to  read  anything  in  the  shape 
of  temperate  argument,  provided  it  is  supported  by  scripture  evi- 
dence ; but,  without  that,  I will  admit  no  assertion,  however  bold 
or  positive.  Will  you  examine  the  subject  with  me,  by  the  light 
•of  that  unerring  guide?” 

This  proposal  Miss  Smithson  scornfully  declined,  and  then  pro- 
ceeded to  rail  against  the  Protestant  religion,  its  doctrines,  and  its 
ministers,  in  terms  so  unmeasured,  so  violent  and  abusive,  that 
Emily  was  at  length  obliged  to  stop  her. 

“ Miss  Smithson, she  said,  with  mild,  but  firm  dignity,  “ in 
every  conversation  we  have  had  on  this  subject,  I have  studied  to 
express  myself  in  the  most  respectful  terms  I could  possibly  ap- 
ply to  your  religion ; I have  carefully  avoided  every  word  that 
could  give  you  offence,  or  wound  your  feelings,  even  in  the  slight- 
est degree.  You  must,  therefore,  excuse  me,  if  I remind  you, 
that  I have  a right  to  expect  the  same  delicacy  from  you,  and  that 
1 cannot  listen  to  such  language  as  you  are  now  using.  Allow 


CONVENT  SCENES.  205 

me,  also,  to  say,  that  invective  is  not  argument,  and  that  violence 
is  always  a sign  of  a weak  or  a bad  cause.” 

This  rebuke,  for  the  present,  checked  Miss  Smithson’s  volubi- 
lity ; but  she  renewed  her  attacks  with  such  frequency  and  vehe- 
mence, that  Lydia  one  day  told  her  ;‘if  her  object  was  to  make 
converts,  she  did  not  employ  the  proper  method  to  attain  it.” 

In  the  meantime,  the  influence  of  the  nuns  over  Caroline  seem- 
ed daily  to  increase.  Emily  and  Lydia  now  saw  her  but  seldom, 
and  she  sedulously  avoided  all  conversation  with  them.  How  far 
she  herself  conformed  to  the  idolatrous  practices  of  the  house,  it 
was  not  easy  to  ascertain ; but  it  was  quite  evident  that  she  con- 
curred with  the  nuns  in  subjecting  her  two  younger  sisters  to  all 
the  tyranny  of  popish  observances.  To  add  to  these  causes  of 
uneasiness,  no  news  whatever  were  received  from  Mr.  Howard  ; 
and,  though  Caroline  was  too  much  absorbed  b^  other  subjects  to 
bestow  much  thought  on  this  unaccountable  silence  of  her  father, 
the  anxiety  of  Emily  and  Lydia  began  to  assume  the  tone  of  se- 
rious alarm.  Again  the  former  wrote,  in  terms,  if  possible,  still 
more  pressing  5 and  they  awaited  the  success  of  this  third  appli- 
cation, with  feelings  amounting  almost  to  agony. 

The  only  enjoyment  that  now  remained  to  them,  was  the  privi- 
lege of  hearing  the  gospel  at  the  chapel  on  the  Sunday  morning, 
and  sometimes  spending  an  hour  afterwards  with  Major  and  Mrs. 
Fortescue.  These  were  opportunities  which  they  highly  prized, 
and  no  opposition  had  as  yet  been  made  to  their  going ; but  Caro- 
line now  began  to  absent  herself  from  thl? Protestant  services,  and 
to  keep  Henrietta  and  Julia  also  away,  under  various  pretexts 
Mrs.  Fortescue  called  occasionally  to  see  them  at  the  grate ; 
but  their  conversations  were  never  suffered  to  be  long,  and  were 
generally  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  some  of  the  nuns.  On 
one  of  these  occasions,  la  mere  Saint  Euphrasie  informed  that 
lady  that,  as  she  had  long  expressed  a wish  to  witness  the  cere- 
mony of  taking  the  veil,  she  might  soon  have  this  desire  gratified, 
as  there  were  soon  to  be  admitted  two  new  sisters, — the  one  to 
take  the  white  or  novice’s  veil,  the  other  the  black. 

Mrs.  Fortescue  thanked  the  nun  for  her  information,  and,  as  that 
day  was  to  be  a grand  holiday  in  the  house,  requested  that  her 
young  friends  might  be  permitted  to  spend  it  with  her.  This  per- 
mission was  granted  by  the  superieure  , but  Caroline  declined  the 
invitation,  alleging  that  she  wished  to  pass  the  day  with  Sophie. 
It  was,  therefore,  settled  that  Emily  should  join  Mrs.  Fortescue 
in  the  chapel  on  that  morning,  and,  after  witnessing  the  ceremo- 
ny, they  should  take  Lydia,  Henrietta,  and  Julia,  with  them  to  the 
Major’s  pleasant  residence. 

The  nun  who  was  to  make  what  is  called  her  profession , or,  in 
other  words,  to  assume  the  black  veil,  the  symbol  of  perpetual  se- 
clusion, was  about  thirty  years  of  ajm,  and  was  called  la  scp.nr  Ma - 
20 


206 


CONVENT  SCENES. 


rie.  Emily  had  often  seen  her  among  the  novices,  though  she  had 
never  spoken  to  her ; but  who  the  other  intended  nun  was,  no  one 
but  the  superieure  seemed  to  know.  Great  preparations  were 
making  for  the  exhibition ; the  nuns  were  all  busily  employed, 
some  about  the  chapel,  some  about  the  altar,  and  sister  Marie  her* 
self  underwent  a long  course  of  fastings,  prayers,  and  mortifica- 
tions, some  self-inflicted,  others  prescribed  by  the  confessor,  by 
way  of  preparation  for  the  approaching  event.  The  chapel  was 
tastefully  ornamented  with  flowers,  wax  tapers,  and  everything 
costly  that  the  community  could  command.  The  altar  was  de- 
corated with  several  beautiful  specimens  of  gold  and  silver  em- 
broidery, and  Sophie’s  time  was  much  taken  up  with  practising  on 
the  organ  a splendid  piece  of  music,  in  which  she  was  to  be  accom- 
panied by  the  voices  of  the  whole  sisterhood. 

Great  curiosity  was  excited,  by  the  uncertainty  that  prevailed 
with  regard  to  the  person  who  was  to  perform  the  other  part  in 
this  melancholy  drama;  but  the  superieure  was  not  communica- 
tive, and  the  whole  affair  remained  involved  in  mystery.  On  the 
evening  preceding  the  ceremony,  however,  a travelling-carriage 
stopped  at  the  convent-gate,  and  a young  lady  was  handed  out  by 
an  elderly  gentleman,  who,  after  takings  formal  leave  of  her,  re- 
entered the  vehicle,  and  immediately  departed.  The  stranger  was 
conducted  to  a room  which  had  been  prepared  for  her,  and  was 
not  seen  again  that  evening  by  any  but  the  superieure,  who  had 
a very  long  interview  with  her.  Nothing  was  known  concerning 
her,  except  that  she  carfte  from  Tours,  was  unaccompanied  by  a 
single  relative  or  friend,  and  a total  stranger  in  the  place  which 
was  now  to  be  her  residence  for  life.  Even  her  face  had  not  been 
seen,  for  it  was  shrouded  in  a long  mourning  veil. 

Early  on  the  ensuing  morning  the  whole  convent  was  in  a bus- 
tle. The  two  future  nuns  were  at  the  confessional  by  break  of 
day,  and  after  a long  interview  with  the  priest,  again  retired  to 
their  fooms.  The  stranger  was  then  attended  by  the  nuns  ap- 
pointed to  dress  her  for  the  occasion,  and  the  sisters  who  took 
charge  of  the  school  were  also  employed  in  attiring  the  boarders, 
that  they  might  form  a pleasing  group  in  the  pageant. 

Emily  repaired  to  the  chapel  about  eight  o’clock,  and  was  soon 
after  joined  by  Major  and  Mrs.  Fortescue,  with  whom  she  re- 
mained in  conversation  for  some  time,  during  which  time  the 
chapel  gradually  filled  with  English  gentlemen  and  ladies,  whom 
curiosity  had  drawn  to  witness  the  ceremony.  There  were  a 
few  French  persons  behind,  but  they  were  generally  of  the  lowest 
class  of  society.  Emily  and  Mrs.  Fortescue  stationed  themselves 
near  the  railings  in  front  of  the  altar,  and  awaited  the  entrance 
of  the  procession  with  feelings  of  lively  interest. 

At  last,  some  of  those  children  known  by  the  name  of  enfants 
de  chceur , appeared  from  the  inner  room,  and  began  to  strew  the 


CONVENT  SCENES. 


207 


space  around  the  altar  with  rose-leaves,  from  baskets  which  were 
suspended  round  their  necks  by  rose-colored  ribbons.  They  were 
dressed  in  a kind  of  white  surplice,  with  a girdle  of  ribbon. 

They.were  followed  by  several  priests,  with  their  acolytes,  who 
ranged  themselves  round  the  altar ; after  which,  the  door  of  the 
ante-cluBur , or  nuns’  inner  chapel,  was  opened,  and  the  voices  of 
the  sisterhood  were  heard,  chanting  a hymn,  as  they  slowly  en- 
tered in  procession.  They  had  lighted  tapers  in  their  hands,  and, 
with  their  peculiar  dress,  and  long  flowing  veils,  presented  a 
striking  coup-d'ceil , the  effect  of  which  was  not  a little  heightened 
by  the  music.  The  novices  came  behind,  and  after  them  the 
boarders.  Every  nun  bent  the  knee  for  a moment  on  the  lower 
step  of  the  altar,  and  they  then  seated  themselves  round  it.  The 
two  candidates  for  the  veil  were  then  brought  forward,  and  placed 
in  the  midst,  exactly  in  front  of  the  altar.  Every  eye  was  in- 
stantly fixed  upon  them.  Sister  Marie,  however,  attracted  but 
little  attention  ; her  look  was  calm,  her  demeanor  composed,  and 
it  was  evident  that  the  step  she  was  about  to  take  was  the  result 
of  deliberate  choice. 

But  not  so  the  young  stranger  who  was  on  the  point  of  becom- 
ing a novice.  She  had,  from  the  first,  excited  much  curiosity, 
and  that  feeling  was  now  converted  into  one  of  painful  interest. 
She  was  ah  elegant  young  woman  of  two-and-^wenty,  and  attired 
as  a bride,  in  a white  muslin  dress,  a cap  tastefully  ornamented 
with  satin  and  ribbon,  and  a large  and  rich  lace  veil,  which  was 
thrown  over  her  head.  Her  fine  dark  hair  was  braided  on  her  fore- 
head, and  a boquet  of  rosebuds  had  been  placed  in  her  hand.  But 
all  this  finery  only  served  to  render  more  striking  the  death-like 
paleness  of  her  cheek,  and  the  expression  of  deep  and  hopeless 
anguish  on  her  countenance.  She  had  not  long  been  seated  be- 
fore the  altar,  when  the  superieure,  perceiving  that  she  was  near 
fainting,  found  it  necessary  to  have  her  re-conducted  into  the  ante - 
chosur , where  she  remained  till  she  was  sufficiently  recovered  to 
return  to  the  chapel.  When  at  length  she  was  again  supported 
to  her  place,  the  hearts  of  the  Protestant  spectators  were  deeply 
affected  bv  her  appearance.  There  was  not  the  slightest  tinge  of 
color  in  her  face,  and  the  livid  whiteness  of  her  quivering  lips 
denoted  the  most  distressing  agitation.  She  seemed  scarcely  con- 
scious of  what  she  did,  and  looked  indeed  like  the  helpless  victim 
adorned  for  a sacrifice. 

Several  priests  were  in  attendance,  but  it  was  the  confessor  of 
the  convent  on  whom  devolved  the  duty  of  performing  the  cere- 
mony. He  was  an  Irishman,  of  the  name  of  Saville,  and  of  a 
peculiarly  stem  and  unprepossessing  countenance.  He  now  be- 
gan to  celebrate  the  gorgeous  ceremony  of  the  mass,  with  all  its 
pomp  and  splendor,  and  undisguised  idolatry.  At  its  conclusion, 
a sermon  was  preached  to  the  two  candidates,  in  which  much 


208 


CONVENT  SCENES. 


false  reasoning' and  unscriptural  doctrine  was  employed,  to  cori 
vince  them,  and  the  spectators,  that  the  step  they  were  now  tak 
ing  was  a highly  meritorious  one,  and  would  most  certainly  en- 
sure  them  uninterrupted  happiness  on  earth,  and  a reward  of 
transcendent  glory  in  heaven. 

When  this  specious  oration  was  finished,  Sister  Marie  was  con- 
ducted by  the  superieure  to  the  altar,  and  kneeling  on  the  lowest 
step,  was  addressed  by  the  priest  in  Latin.  As  the  act  of  taking 
the  vows  is  considered  in  the  light  of  a marriage,  and  the  victim 
as  the  bride  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  in  order  to  keep  up  the 
blasphemous  idea,  she  is  provided  with  two  bride’s-maids.  This 
office  was  performed  by  Ellen  Wilton  and  Fanny  Lowe,  dressed 
in  white,  wTitl;  rose-colored  ribbons,  and  large  boquets  of  flowers. 
They  stood  on  each  side  of  her,  while  she  repeated  the  vow  of 
poverty,  chastity,  and  obedience, — that  irrevocable  vow  which 
Dound  her  to  perpetual  seclusion,  and  separated  her  for  ever  fr<wr 
all  the  social  ties  and  endearing  charities  of  life. 

The  priest  then  blessed  the  black  veil,  which  was  lying  on  * 
table  before  him,  and  the  superieure  placed  it  on  her  head,  substi 
tuting  it  for  the  novice’s  white  one,  which  was  now  laid  aside 
After  this,  many  prayers  were  chanted  and  recited,  the  priest 
blessed  her  several  times,  and  the  organ  sent  forth  \ts  sweetest 
tones,  to  welcome  the  new*  nun  to  her  joyless  sphere  of  exist- 
ence. 

She  then  laid  herself  down  at  the  foot  of  the  altar,  and  a funeral 
pall  was  thrown  over  her,  to  signify  that  she  was  entirely  dead  to 
the  world,  and  to  all  the  relations  of  society.  Two  burning  wax 
tapers  were  placed  at  her  head,  and  two  at  her  feet,  in  the  manner 
done  to  a corpse,  and  her  two  little  bride’s  maids  strewed  the  pall 
all  over  with  roses..  While  she  lay  in  this  posture,  perfectly  mo- 
tionless, and  shrouded  in  the  pall,  the  sisterhood  sang  her  funeral 
hymn  in  Latin,  in  tones  so  sweetly  mournful,  accompanied  by  the 
thrilling  notes  of  the  organ,  now  swelling  in  solemn  majesty  of 
sound,  then  gradually  sinking  into  strains  of  plaintive  melody, 
that  every  ear  was  fascinated,  and  every  eye  moistened  with  the 
tears  of  excited  feeling.  At  the  end  of  about  ten  minutes,  the  mu- 
sic seemed  to  die  away  in  a lengthened  cadence  of  exquisite  soft- 
ness, and  a short  pause  ensued,  during  which  the  audience  appeared 
scarcely  to  breathe.  The  new  nun  was  then  assisted  to  rise  from 
her  death-like  posture  ; the  organ  made  the  chapel  resound  with 
a triumphant  anthem  of  joy,  in  which  the  deep  voices  of  the 
priests  joined  the  softer  strains  of  the  female  singers;  and  sister 
Marie  was  conducted  by  the  superieure  to  take  her  place  among 
the  sisterhood. 

The  whole  of  this  performance  wras  evidently  intended,  and  cer- 
tainly well  calculated,  to  captivate  the  senses,  and  produce  a pow- 
erful impression  on  the  mind,  in  favor  of  the  Popish  church  in 


CONVENT  SCENES. 


209 


general,  and  a conventual  life  in  particular;  nor  did  it  altogether 
fail  of  its  effect  on  those  who  then  witnessed  it.  The  remaining 
part  of  the  drama,  however,  was  fated  to  dissolve  the  charm,  and 
create  feelings  which  could  not  but  serve  as  an  antidote  to  the 
subtle  poison  so  skilfully  administered. 

The  young  lady  was  now  brought  forward,  and  every  heart 
seemed  to  throb' with  painful  emotion,  as  the  interesting  girl  knelt 
before  the  altar,  and,  with  suppressed  feelings,  meekly  awaited  her 
fate  A lighted  taper  was  taken  from  the  altar,  and  put.  into  her 
hand.  The  priest  then  asked  her  in  French,  “ Ma  fille , que  dc- 
mandez-vous  ?”  Her  answer  to  this  question  was  in  a prescribed 
form,  but  pronounced  in  so  low  and  faint  a voice,  that  the  words 
could  not  be  distinguished.  It  seemed,  however,  that  they  con- 
tained the  expression  of  a wish  to  becqpue  a religicuse , for  he  again 
addressed  her, — u Daughter,  is  it  by  your  own  free  will,  that  you 
now  devote  yourself  to  God  V’  She  falteringly  replied  in  the  affir- 
mative, and  he  then  asked  her  two  more  questions, — “ whether  she 
had  made  herself  sufficiently  acquainted  with  the  duties  and  regu- 
lations of  the  life  she  was  about  to  embrace  '?  and  whether  she  was 
resolved  to  persevere  in  it,  even  to  the  end  of  her  life  V.1  Her  faint 
and  scarcely-uttered  replies  sealed  her  dedication,  and  she  was 
then  led  into  the  ante-diceur , to  have  her  hair  cut  off,  and  to  assume 
the  dress  of  the  order.  She  seemed  scarcely  able  to  stand,  and,  as 
she  was  supported  out  of  the  chapel,  the  utter  wretchedness  de- 
picted on  her  pallid  countenance  struck  a chill  of  horror  to  every 
heart.  While  her  bridal  dress,  the  mockery,  rather  than  the  ex- 
pression, of  joy,  was  being  removed,  and  her  beautiful  hair  merci- 
lessly cut  off,  the  other  nuns  filled  up  the  interval  with  chant- 
ings  and  recitatives.  At  length  she  was  led  back  to  the  altar, 
clothed  in  the  black  woollen  robe,  the  small  close  cap  and  bandeau, 
and  a small  cloth  veil  over  her  head. 

She  seemed  to  have,  in  a great  measure,  conquered  her  agita- 
tion ; the  mournful  calmness  of  forced  resignation  had  succeeded 
to  the  traces  of  conflicting  feelings ; but  the  marble  paleness  of 
her  countenance,  and  the  touching  sadness  of  its  expression,  ap- 
pealed with  irresistible  power  to  the  hearts  of  the  pitying  spec- 
tators. 

Kneeling  once  more  on  the  steps  of  the  altar,  she  was  solemnly 
blessed  by  the  priest,  who  presented  her  with  the  consecrated 
girdle,  to  which  were  attached  the  rosary  and  cross,  and  which 
the  superieure  fastened  round  her  waist.  Her  cloth  veil  was  then 
taken  off,  and  replaced  by  a large  muslin  one,  and,  while  the  supe- 
rieure was  carefully  arranging  it  in  long,  graceful  folds,  the  priest 
addressed  her  in  Latin,  and  again  gave  her  his  blessing. 

The  supeiieure  now  left  her  kneeling  on  the  highest  steps  of  the 
altar,  and  she  was  expected  to  sing  a hymn,  accompanied  onlj^by 
the  organ.  She  made  one  or  two  ineffectual  attempts  to  raise  her 
s 18* 


210 


CONVENT  SCENES. 


voice;  but,  finding  herself  unequal  to  the  task,  arose,  with  the 
sudden  impulse  of  uncontrollable  feeling,  and  rushed  precipitately 
down  the  steps.  The  superieure,  alarmed  at  her  evident  emotion, 
hastened  towards  her,  and,  taking  her  hand  in  a soothing  manner, 
made  a sign  to  sister  Marie  to  join  her.  She  was  again  led  up  to 
the  highest  step,  and  they  then  sang  together;  but  the  low  and 
faltering  accents  of  the  novice  were  lost  in  the  more  assured  tones 
of  her  companion.  The  nuns  soon  after  joined  in  the  anthem, 
and  the  voices  of  the  priests  completed  the  chorus,  which  was 
closed  by  a grand  finale,  from  the  deep-toned  organ.  The  victim  of 
this  cruel  sacrifice  had  now  recovered  her  composure,  and  was  led 
by  the  superieure  toward  the  nuns,  whom  she  embraced  individu- 
ally, in  token  of  her  being  now  a member  of  the  sisterhood. 

Thus  ended  this  moatjrainful  ceremony..  Painful,  indeed,  it 
must  have  been  to  every  feeling  mind  ; and  this  was  sufficiently 
attested,  by  the  indignation  depicted  on  the  countenances  of  the 
English  gentlemen  in  the  chapel,  and  the  tears  of  sorrow  and  com- 
passion shed  by  many  of  the  ladies.  It  must  be  distressing  under 
any  circumstances,  to  see  a young  persoji  thus  buried  in  a clois- 
ter,—lost  to  all  the  endearing  ties  of  society,  and  the  prospect  of 
future  usefulness.  But,  in  the  present  case,  it  was  more  than 
usually  painful ; — it  was  made  heart-rending,  by  the  impression 
that  the  sacrifice  was  not  a voluntary  one.  Whatever  the  circum- 
stances might  have  been,  which  compelled  this  young  lady  thus 
to  immure  herself  in  the  joyless  seclusion  of  a convent,  it  was  evi- 
dent that  her  heart  revolted  from  it,  and  that  her  situation  was  one 
that  deserved  the  tenderest  pity. 

It  was  true,  she  might  retract  her  vows,  when  her  year  of  pro- 
bation was  expired ; that  is,  the  law  would  authorize  her  in  re- 
nouncing the  monastic  life,  and  reclaiming  her  liberty,  at  the  end 
of  her  noviciate,  if  she  chose  to  avail  herself  of  its  protection.  But 
it  is  the  interest  of  every  person  in  the  convent,  to  retain  within 
its  walls  all  those  who  have  been  admitted  into  the  community ; 
it  was  most  probable  that  every  impediment  would  be  thrown  in 
the  way  of  her  obtaining  her  liberation  ; and  who  can  doubt  the 
power  of  a superieure,  in  a place  where  everything  is  subject  to 
ner  will,  where  no  person  has  a right  to  interfere  with  her  author- 
ity, and  where  not  even  one  word  of  information  can  be  either 
given  or  received,  without  her  knowledge  and  sanction  ? 

But,  even  supposing  that  she  could  succeed  in  conquering  every 
difficulty,  and  surmounding  every  obstacle, — nothing  but  obloquy 
and  contempt  would  await  her  in  the  world,  should  she  dare  to  re- 
turn to  it.  She  would  be  shunned  by  every  correct  Roman  Catho- 
lic, and  excluded  from  all  respectable  society,  as  an  apostate  nun, 
— a person  devoid  of  principle,  and  who  had  been  guilty  of  a breach 
o^the  most  solemn  obligations. 

Those  fatal  bonds  are,  therefore,  but  too  sure,  and  humanity 


THE  CONFESSIONAL. 


211 


must  weep  at  the  lot  of  an  unfortunate  being,  thus  condemned  to 
unwilling  seclusion,  “with  all  the  gloomy  trifles  of  a convent  (as 
a pious  modern  writer*  expresses  it),  to  intervene  between  her 
soul  and  that  God,  whom  to  know  is  life,  and  light,  and  joy,  and 
peace.” 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THJ2  CONFESSIONAL. 

For  there  is  one  God,  and  one  Mediator  between  God  and  men,  the  man  Christ 
Jesus. — 1 Tim.  ii.  5. 

The  cruel  sacrifice  was  completed.  The  veil  was  dropped  for 
ever,  between  the  youthful  victim,  and  that  world  in  which  she 
seemed  so  well  fitted  to  shine;  and  the  English  ladies  who  had 
witnessed  the  ceremony,  prepared  to  depart,  with  hearts  oppressed 
with  the  most  genuine  feelings  of  compassion.  The  gentlemen 
who  had  been  present  had  long  since  left  the  chapel, — some  wea 
ried  out  by  the  length  of  the  performance,  and  others  unable  any 
longer  to  restrain  their  feelings  of  pity  and  indignation.  Among 
the  foremost  of  these  was  Major  Fortescue,  whose  manly  feelings 
and  Christian  principles  equally  revolted  from  the  scene. 

But  the  sentiments  of  regret  and  abhorrence,  so  visible  in  the 
countenances  of  the  spectators,  so  different  from  the  favorable  im- 
pression which  it  had  been  hoped  the  exhibition  would  make  on 
their  minds,  had  not  been  unnoticed  by  the  officiating  priest.  It 
had,  as  might  be  supposed,  excited  his  utmost  wrath  ; and  he  could 
not  let  the  Protestants  withdraw,  without  venting  his  displeasure 
on  them,  in  a public  manner.  . When,  therefore,  the  ceremony  was 
concluded,  he  addressed  them  in  the  following  terms : — 

“ We  are  going  to  administer  the  blessing  of  the  holy  sacrament, 
and  I request  all  Protestants  immediately  to  retire.  And  let  them 
take  notice,  that,  in  future,  whenever  any  ceremony  shall  take 
place  in  this  chapel,  the  doors  shall  be  closed  against  them.  They 
ought  never  to  enter  our  churches,  if  they  do  not  know  how  to 
conduct  themselves  more  respectfully,  during  the  celebration  of 
our  holy  mysteries.  Why  should  they  come,  merely  to  gratify 
their  curiosity?  We  never  attend  their  preaching-meetings.- 
• Miss  Kennedy. 


212 


THE  CONFESSIONAL. 


God  forbid  that  we  should,  indeed!  for  what  could  we  hear  there, 
but  falsehood  and  blasphemy  ? ” 

Much  more  did  the  father  utter,  of  bitter  invectives,  and  un 
sparing  abuse  of  the  Protestant  fatth  ; but  the  English  ladies,  terri- 
fied by  his  enraged  manner  and  violent  gestures,  precipitately 
left  the  chapel,  while  he  continued  to  thunder  out  his  anathemas 
against  them  until  they  were  out  of  sight.  Itis#most  probable 
that,  had  the  gentlemen  still  been  present,  the  vindictive  priest 
would  not  have  ventured  thus  openly  to  insult  them ; especially  as 
no  cause  whatever  had  been  given  for^o  unwarrantable  an  attack. 
The  most  perfect  silence  an^  decorum  had  been  -observed  by  the 
English  throughout  the  whole  ceremony : which  was  not  the  case 
with  the  few  French  persons  present,  several  of  whom  had  be- 
haved very  improperly.  But  the  Protestants  had  not  knelt,  nor 
bowed  their  faces  to  the  earth,  during  the  elevation  of  the  host; 
and  this,  which  in  itself  was  an  unpardonable  crime  in  the  eyes  of 
the  Papists,  had  been  still  farther  aggravated,  by  the  expression  of 
indignation  at  the  sacrifice,  and  compassion  for  the  helpless  victim 
of  spiritual  tyranny,  which  could  not  have  escaped  the  observation 
of  Father  Saville.  He  had,  therefore,  seized  the  moment  when  he 
thought  he  could,  without  fear  of  retaliation,  vent  his  rage  on  the 
Protestants. 

Mrs.  Fortescue  and  Emily went  to  the  door  of  the  convent,  and, 
on  being  joined  by  Lydia,  Henrietta,  and  Julia,  proceeded  to  the 
town,  w’here  they  found  the  gentlemen  assembled  in  the  English 
reading-room.  They  had  gone  thither,  to  wait  for  their -wives,  sis- 
ters, and  daughters,  and  were  now  discussing  the  intelligence  com- 
municated by  the  terrified  ladies  on  their  arrival.  Some  were  of 
opinion  that  the  British  consul  should  be  called  upon  to  interfere; 
others  talked  of  complaining  to  the  English  government,  of  the 
insult  offered  to  British  subjects ; but  the  ladies,  with  one  voice, 
requested  that  the  affair  might  go  no  further;  and  it  was,  at 
length,  agreed,  though  not  without  some  difficulty,  that  the 
priest’s  conduct  should  be  passed  over  in  contemptuous  silence. 

After  a pleasant  day,  spent  with  Major  and  Mrs.  Fortescue,  the 
cousins  unwillingly  returned  to  the  gloomy  walls  of  the  convent, 
and  the  next  day  resumed. their  studies  as  usual.  Bnt  Emily  and 
Lydia  had  many  a hard-fought  conflict  with  Miss  Smithson,  who 
insisted  that  the  conduct  of  the  Protestants  in  the  chapel  had 
fully  warranted  Father  Saville  in  his  violent  animadversions  upon 
them.  This  young  lady’s  manner  of  attempting  to  make  a con- 
vert was,  indeed,  anything  but  attractive,  or  likely  to  succeed.  The 
nuns  in  the  school  were  wiser;  they  confined  their  endeavors, 
with  the  elder  pupils,  to  casual  observations  on  the  beauty,  sanctity, 
and  blessedness  of  their  religion;  or  short  exhortations,  delivered 
in  a kind  and  caressing  manner,  calculated  to  mislead  the  judg- 
ment, and  ensnare  the  warm  affections  of  youth.  With  the  younger 


THE  CONFESSIONAL.  213 

Children,  however,  they  were  not  so  scrupulous,  as  will  be  seen 
from  the  following  circumstances,  which  occurred  soon  after. 

It  will  be  recollected  that  Clara  Somers  had  told  Emily  that 
the  priest  and  nuns  were  very  busy,  preparing  the  three  little  girls 
for  confession ; that  they  had  for  some  time  been  using  every 
means  to  induce  her  also  to  comply  with  this  ordinance  of  their 
church  ; but  that  she  had  declared  her  determination  never  to  do 
so.  Now  that  the  bustle,  occasioned  by  the  late  important  cere- 
monies, had  subsided,  the  sisters  renewed  their  efforts  with  re- 
doubled zeal,  and  a day  was  appointed  for  admitting  them  to  the 
confessional.  Over  little  Fanny  and  Mary  Lowe  they  had  long 
exercised  the  most  unbounded  influence,  and  they  were,  therefore, 
sure  of  them  ; but  with  Ellen  Wilton,  and  especially  Clara,  much 
skilful  management  was  still  necessary  to  caixy  their  point.  The 
former,  indeed,  was  tolerably  tractable ; but  the  latter,  as  yet,  con- 
tinued proof  against  both  their  caresses  and  their-  threats. 

They  were  conducted  every  morning  to  Father  Saville’s  break- 
fast-ro#om',  where  Ellen  was  easily  bribed,  by  presents  of  cakes  and 
sweetmeats,  to  promise  whatever  he  required. 

“ Now  tell  me,  my  sweet  little  girls,”  said  the  priest  to  them, 
the  morning  before  the  day  appointed  for  the  confession,  “ are  you 
quite  resolved  to  become  good  Catholics  to-morrow,  and  to  enter 
that  church  in  which  alone  you  can  hope  for  sa-lvation 

“ Yes,  father,”  replied  Ellen,  sipping,  with  much  satisfaction,  a 
cup  of  cafe-au-lait , which  he  had  given  her. 

“ Let  me  hear  you  repeat  your  Confiteor , your  Pater,  and  your 
dve , my  child.” 

The  little  girl  did  so,  and  he  patted  her  head  in  approbation. 

“ You  will  come  to  me  at  the  confessional,  then,  by  nine  o’clock 
to-morrow  morning,  and  be  careful  to  prepare  yourself  beforehand, 
by  calling  to  your  remembrance  every  sin  you  can  possibly  recol- 
lect 

“ I will,  father,”  said  the  docile  Ellen,  as  she  took  from  his  hand 
a box  of  bonbons , and  a cluster  of  tempting  raisins. 

The  priest  extended  his  hand,  and  gave  the  child  his  blessing  ; 
then,  turning  to  Clara,  who  had  stood  rather  sullenly  in  a corner^ 
and  refused  his  proffered  gifts,  he  drew  her  gently  to  him,  and  tried 
the  same  arts  upon  her  again. 

“ Father,”  said  the  candid  Clara,  “ do  not  waste  your  gifts  upon 
me,  for  I tell  you  again,  as  I have  already  done  many  times,  that  I 
will  not  confess,  nor  become  a member  of  your  church.” 

“ But  why  not,  my  little  perverse  heretic  inquired  the  father, 
hiding  his  impatience  under  an  appearance  of  winning  kindness. 
“ Do  you  not  know  that,  if  you  remain  in  your  false  religion,  you 
must  inevitably  perish  ?” 

“ I cannot  answer  you,  father,  nor  give  you  any  other  reason 
than  this,  that  I have  been  brought  up  a Protestant,  that  my  father 


214 


THE  CONFESSIONAL. 


and  all  my  family  are  Protestants,  and  that  I will  not  change  my 
religion  to  please  any  one.” 

“ You  are  an  obstinate  little  girl,”  said  the  father,  with  a porten- 
tous frown , “ but,  if  milder  measures  will  not  do,  you  must  be 
compelled  to  your  duty.  It  is  out  of  pure  love  and  charity  to  your 
soul,  that  we  do  it ; so,  Mademoiselle,  remember,  1 shall  expect 
you  at  the  confessional  to-morrow.” 

“ I will  not  come,”  said  Clara,  boldly ; “ you  have  no  right  to 
compel  me,  and  I am  sure  papa  will  take  me  away  from  this  place, 
as  soon  as  he  knows  how  I have  been  treated.” 

“ We  shall  see,  mademoiselle,”  said  the  priest  almost  choked 
with  passion ; “ in  the  mean  time,  retire  to  your  own  room,  and  I 
shall  give  orders  that  you  are  kept  there  till  you  choose  to  obey.” 

Clara  retired,  somewhat  terriiied  by  his  menaces,  but  still  re- 
solved to  persist  in  her  refusal. 

The  priest  had  a conference  with  la  mere  Sainte  Helene,  the 
directress  of  the  school,  who,  in  obedience  to  his  orders,  spent  a 
great  part  of  the  day  in  endeavoring  to  soothe,  persuade,  or  coax, 
the  refractory  Clara  to  submission  But  her  efforts  were  all  una- 
vailing, for,  with  a firmness  and  consistency,  indicative  of  great 
decision  of  character,  the  child  continued  to  resist  both  promises 
and  threats,  and,  to  the  great  annoyance  of  the  nun,  remained  un- 
shaken in  her  determination. 

♦ The  morning  came,  and  Father  Saville  enshrined  himself  in  the 
confessional.  La  mere  Sainte  Helene  was  fully  engaged  in  giving 
Ellen  the  last  instructions  preparatory  to  confession,  and  sister  St. 
Anne  was  similarly  occupied  with  Fanny  and  Mary.  Sister  Con- 
stance was,  therefore,  deputed  to  try  a last  attempt  at  persuading 
Clara,  as  the  winning  sweetness  of  her  manner  generally  gave  her 
great  power  over  the  miifhs  of  young  persons.  But,  in  this  instance, 
the  amiable  nun  exerted  her  influence  in  vain.  Clara  remained  ob- 
stinately inflexible,  and  her  instructors  were  reduced  to  despair. 

In  the  meantime,  Fanny  and  Mary  were  led  to  the  confessional, 
and,  after  goingthrough  their  parts  in  a manner  that  did  great  credit 
to  their  teachers,  received  the  priest’s  absolution,  and  were  dismissed 
with  praises.  It  was  now  Ellen’s  turn,  and  she  approached,  though 
not  without  evincing  some  reluctance.  She  knelt,  however,  in  the 
place  appointed,  at  the  side  of  the  priest,  and  duly  repeated  the 
prescribed  form, 

“ I confess  to  God  Almighty,  to  the  blessed  Mary,  always  a vir- 
gin, to  St.  Michael  the  archangel,  St.  John  the  Baptist,  St.  Peter, 
St.  Paul,  and  all  the  saints,  and  to  you,  my  father,  because  I have 
greatly  sinned,  in  thought,  word,  and  deed..  It  is  my  fault, — it  is 
my  fault, — it  is  my  very  great  fault ; — wherefore,  I pray  the  blessed 
Mary,  always  a virgin,  St.  Michael  the  archangel,  St.John  the  Bap- 
tist, St.  Peter,  St.  Paul,  all  the  saints,  and  you,  my  father,  to  inter- 
cede for  me  with  the  Lord  our  God. 


THE  CON FE6SJON AL. 


215 


The  child  went  through  this  blasphemous  confession  exactly  in 
the  manner  she  had  been  taught,  crossing  herself  at  the  begin- 
ning and  the  end,  and  striking  on  her  breast  at  the  repetition  of  the 
words, — “ It  is  my  fault,  it  is  my  fault,  it  is  my  very  great  fault.” 

The  priest  spoke  a few  words  of  approbation  to  her,  and  then 
began  to  question  her  as  to  the  sins  which  he  supposed  .she  might 
have  committed,  such  as  disobedience  to  the  nuns,  quarrelling  with 
her  companions,  lying  or  deceit,  acts  of  childish  dishonesty,  excess 
in  eating,  passion,  or  evil  tempers,  idleness,  inattention  to  hei 
studies,  neglect  of  religious  observances,  &c.  &c.  To  most  of  these 
Ellen  pleaded  guilty.  He  then  proceeded  to  examine  her  on  the 
subject  of  her  thoughts,  feelings,  and  imaginations,  and,  in  so 
doing,  asked  some  questions  which  suggested  ideas  that  had  never 
before  entered  her  mind,  and  some  which  it  was  happy  for  her 
that  she  did  not  understand.  As  far,  however,  as  she  compre- 
hended them,  she  frankly  acknowledged  her  faults,  and  detailed 
many  little  circumstances  which  were  exceedingly  amusing,  from 
the  childish  simplicity  with  which  they  were  told- 

The  confessor  now  asked  her  one  more  question, — “ whether 
she  could  remember  any  other  sin,  which  she  had  omitted  in  her 
previous  confession 

Ellen  paused,  as  he  imagined,  to  collect  her  thoughts  ; but  ob- 
serving that  she  did  not  reply,  and  that  she  seemed  disconcerted, 
he  repeated  his  question.  At  length  she  said,  with  some  embar- 
rasment, 

“ Yes,  father,  there  is  another  sin  which  I have  committed,  but 
I cannot  confess  it.” 

This  sin,  of  which  Ellen’s  conscience  accused  her,  was,  her 
having  sprinkled  some  soot  and  dust  in  the  holy  water,  which  wa* 
always  kept  in  the  benetier , at  the  head  of  each  bed,  for  the  purpose 
of  being  used,  morning  and  evening,  to  make  the  sign  of  the  cross 
on  the  forehead.  Her  childish  propensity  to  mischief  had  led  her 
to  do  it,  in  order  that  she  might  enjoy  the  amusement  of  seeing  la 
mere  Sainte  Helene,  and  several  of  the  young  ladies,  with  black 
crosses  on  their  foreheads.  Inquiries  had  been  made,  to  ascertain 
who  was  the  culprit,  but,  as  she  denied  it  as  positively  as  any  of 
the  others,  all  attempts  had  proved  unsuccessful.  Since  then, 
however,  the  notions  which  had  been  instilled  into  her  mind,  had 
led  her  to  consider  this  profane  interference  with  so  sacred  a thing 
as  holy  water,  as  a very  great  crime.  So  perverted  had  been  her 
ideas  of  right  and  wrong,  that  she  thought  it  even  a greater  sin, 
than  the  falsehood  of  which  she  had  been  guilty,  in  order  to  con- 
ceal it.  She  had  been  taught  to  consider  auricular  confession  as 
so  solemn  and  important  a duty,  that  she  durst  not  tell  another 
untruth,  when  the  priest  asked  her  if  she  had  omitted  any  sin, 
but  she  was  fully  determined  not  to  tell  him  what  she  had  done 


THE  CONFESSIONAL. 


216 

as  she  was  persuaded  that  he  would  call  it  sacrilege,  and  punish 
her  accordingly. 

Father  Saville  was  rather  startled  by  her  refusal,  but  endeavored, 
in  the  blandest  manner  he  could  assume,  to  overcome  her  reluc- 
tance. 

“ My  daughter,”  said  he,  “you  are  fully  aware,  that  it  is  youf 
duty  to  confess  every  sin  to  your  spiritual  director.  Tell  me,  there- 
fore, what  this  sin  is,  in  order  that  I may  appoint  yon  a gentle  pen- 
ance, and  then  give  you  absolution!  Be  assured  that  you  will  not 
find  me  a harsh  or  tyrannical  judge  ; I promise  not  to  be  severe 
to  you.” 

Indeed,  father,  you  must  excuse  me.  I could  not  tell  it  you 
on  any  account.  I am  willing  to  do  penance  for  it,  but  I will  not 
tell  you  what  it  is.” 

He  now  suggested  several  sins,  either  of  which,  he  thought 
might  be  the  one  in  question,  and,  when  this  method  failed,  en- 
deavored to  entangle  her  into  an  involuntary  confession,  by  means 
of  artful  questions  ; but  she  had  sufficient  penetration  to  perceive 
his  design,  and  remained  equally  proof  against  all  his  artifices  and 
exhortations. 

The  father  was  both  displeased  and  disconcerted,  by  the  obsti- 
nacy of  his  young  convert ; but  he  did  not  wish  to  frighten  her. 
A great  point  had  been  gained,  by  her  coming  to  confession,  and 
he  wisely  thought  it  best  to  go  cautiously  to  work,  and  not  press 
the  subject  too  far  at  present.  He,  therefore,  addressed  her  in  his 
kindest  manner, 

“ Well,  my  daughter,  the  holy  church  loves  to  imitate  the  ex- 
ample of  the  Great  Shepherd,  who  is  kind  and  indulgent  to  the 
lambs  of  his  flock.  I shall,  therefore,  fake  it  for  granted,  as  you 
assure  me,  that  you  are  truly  penitent  for  this  great  sin,  whoever 
it  may  be,  and  shall  not  question  you  any  further  about  it,  trusting 
that  you  will,  on  some  future  occasion,  see  the  necessity  and  benefit 
of  freely  divulging  it  to  me.  In  the  meantime,  you  will,  as  a slight 
penance,  repeat,  every  morning  and  evening  this  week,,  fifteen 
Ave  Marias,  and  six  pater-nosters ; and  now  I will  give  you  ab 
solution.” 

He  did  so,  and  Ellen  was  very  glad  to  be  dismissed  ; but  she  af- 
terwards repeated  the  substance  of  their  conversation  to  Emily, 
and  was  very  much  astonished,  when  the  latter  told  her  that  the 
falsehood  of  which  she  had  been  guilty,  in  the  transaction  which 
she  confessed  to  her,  though  she  would  not  do  so  to  the  priest, 
was  a much  greater  sin  in  the  sight  of  God,  than  putting  dust  in 
the  hoiy  water. 

Father  Saville  was  now  waiting  for  the  refractory  Clara,  but 
all  the  exertions  of  the  nuns  had  hitherto  failed  in  persuading  her 
to  come.  At  length,  their  patience  was  exhausted,  and  the  priest 
gave  orders  that  she  should  be  carried  to  the  confessional.  The 


AN  UNWELCOME  GUEST. 


217 


tay-3isters  were  accordingly  called;  and,  though  she  struggled, 
screamed,  and  resisted  with  all  her  might,  her  prayers  and  tears 
were  disregarded,  and  she  was  placed  by  force  in  the  right  hand 
division  of  the  confessional.  But  it  was  in  vain  that  the  priest  ex- 
horted, entreated,  or  commanded  her  to  confess.  Her  only  answer 
was,  “ You  have  compelled  me  to  come  hither;  but  you  cannot 
compel  me  to  speak  ; I will  never  confess  to  you  or  to  any  one 
but  God ; and  as  soon  as  my  father  returns,  he  will  remove  me 
from  the  convent,  for  I shall  certainly  tell  him  how  I have  been 
treated  by  you  all.” 

The  father  was  almost  convulsed  with  passion,  but  all  his  threats 
tvere  unavailing  ; and,  after  spending  a part  of  the  morning  in 
cainly  endeavoring  to  conquer  her  determination,  he  at  last  or- 
dered her  back  to  her  room,  where  he  commanded  her  to  be  kept 
a close  prisoner  for  the  present. 

Oh ! now  little  do  Protestant  parents  know,  when  they  so  far 
forget  all  Christian  principle  as  to  send  their  children  to  a convent 
for  education,  the  evils  to  which  they  expose  them,  or  the  con- 
sequences that  may  result  from  their  folly ! 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

AN  UNWELCOME  GUEST. 

He  that  worketh  deceit  shall  not  dwell  within  my  house. — Psalm  ci.  7. 

The  excitement  and  agitation  which  poor  Clara  Somers  had  un- 
dergone, during  the  last  month,  and  especially  on  the  day  of  con- 
fession, had  produced  such  an  effect  upon  her  nerves,  that  she  was 
alarmingly  ill  the  next  morning.  She  was  seized  with  a nervous 
fever,  and  became  so  delirious,  that  the  physician  who  attended 
the  convent  was  summoned  in  the  evening,  and  the  superieure 
began  to  repent  that  she  had  gone  so  far  in  the  case  of  a pupil. 
Her  father,  indeed,  was  absent,  travelling  on  the  continent,  and 
might  not  return  for  some  time ; but  it  was  probable  that  he 
would  remove  his  daughter,  as  soon  as  he  did  return,  and  the  nuns, 
therefore,  resolved  to  obliterate,  if  possible,  by  kindness,  the  un- 
favorable impression  produced  on  the  mind  of  Clara,  as  the  only 
possible  means  of  averting  the  exposure  they  dreaded. 

19 


218 


AN  UNWELCOME  GUEST. 


Clara  was  very  ill  for  several  days,  but,  at  the  end  of  that  pe- 
riod, she  began  to  recover  rapidly.  feefore*she  was  quite  well, 
however,  the  unexpected  arrival  of  her  father  came  like  a thun- 
derbolt, to  crush  the  hopes  of  the  superieure.  She  wTent  down  to 
the  parlor  to  receive  him,  and  informed  him  that  his  daughter  had 
been  some  days  indisposed,  but  that  she  hoped  she  would  soon  be 
quite  recovered.  Anxious  to  see  his  child,  Mr.  Somers  proposed 
taking  her  in  a carriage  to  his  hotel,  as  he  thought  the  change 
might  do  her  good  ; but  the  superieure,  fearful  of  an  interview,  in 
the  present  state  of  Clara’s  mind,  before  she  could  win  her  to  a 
promise  of  silence  on  the  subject  of  the  late  events,  hastily  re- 
plied, that  she  was  not  well  enough  to  be  removed.  He  then  en- 
treated to  be  allowed  to  see  his  child,  if  only  for  two  minutes,  that 
he  might  be  able  to  judge  of  her  state,  but  was  informed  by  the 
lady,  with  great  dignity,  that  it  was  a permission  not  granted 
even  to  mothers,  and,  of  course,  still  less  to  gentlemen.  He  wa « 
at  length  induced  to  take  his  leave,  hoping  to  hear  a better  ac 
count  on  the  morrow. 

That  evening  the  superieure  spent  several  hours  with  Clara 
endeavoring,  by  every  blandishment  she  could  devise,  to  captivate 
her  affections,  and  eradicate  any  feeling  of  resentment  that  might 
still  be  lurking  in  her  mind.  She  did  not  inform  her  of  her 
father’s  arrival,  resolving  not  to  allow  them  to  meet,  till  she  had 
obtained  a promise  that  every  unpleasant  occurrence  should  for 
ever  be  buried  in  oblivion. 

The  next  morning,  however,  the  anxious  father  presented 
himself  at  the  gate  of  the  convent,  and  inquired  after  his  daugh- 
ter’s health.  The  portress,  who  did  not  expect  him  so  early,  and 
had  received  no  orders,  stammered,  and  was  confused  by  his  ques- 
tions. At  length,  not  knowing  what  answer  to  give,  she  requested 
him  to  walk  into  one  of  the  parlors,  while  she  sent  for  Madame 
la  superieure.  At  the  moment  when  she  stepped  aside,  to  send  a 
message  to  that  lady,  the  baker  arrived,  with  a large  basket-full  of 
bread,  and  one  of  the  lay-sisters  opened  the  inner  door  to  receive 
it.  There  were  circular  boxes  placed  near  the  door,  which  were 
so  contrived  as  to  turn  on  a pivot,  so  that  anything  placed  in  them 
from  outside,  might,  by  means  of  the  box  being  made  to  revolve 
on  this  axis,  be  immediately  conveyed  into  the  convent.  These 
boxes  were  called  tours , and  were  generally  used  for  the  purpose 
of  taking  in  the  provisions ; but,  on  this  occasion,  the  door  had 
just  been  opened  for  Mrs.  Brownlow  to  go  out,  and  the  lay-sister 
took  the  bread  herself  from  the  baker.  Mr.  Somers  was  standing 
unperceived  near  the  entrance,  and  the  uneasiness  excited  by  the 
unsatisfactory  accounts  he  had  received  of  his  daughter,  prompted 
him  to  seize  this  opportunity  of  seeing  her.  Tl\e  baker  had  de- 
parted, and  the  lay-sister,  trusting  to  the  portress  (whose  tempo- 
rary absence  she  did  not  perceive)  to  shut  and  fasten  the  door 


AN  UNWELCOME  GUEST. 


219 


bent  her  way  to  the  kitchen  with  the  bread.  Mr.  Somers  took  ad- 
vantage of  the  moment,  and,  hastily  darting  down  the  darkest 
passage,  he  hurried  on,  he  knew  not>in  what  direction. 

He  had  not  gone  far,  however,  before  he  saw  a little  girl  ad' 
vancing  from  an  opposite  direction.  She  started  back  with  ter- 
ror  at  his  appearance ; but  he  had  recognized  Ellen  Wilton,  and 
called  her  by  her  name.  She  also  recollected  him,  for  he  was  a 
friend  of  her  father’s,  and,  coming  up  to  him,  answered  his  earnest 
inquiries,  by  leading  him  to  the  room  where  his  daughter  lay. 
They,  very  fortunately,  encountered  none  of  the  nuns  in  their 
progress,  and  the  father  had  the  satisfaction  of  finding  Clara  bet- 
ter than  his  fears  had  led  him  to  expect.  She  sprang  to  his  em- 
brace, with  a scream  of  joy,  and,  with  tears  and  sobs,  entreated 
him  to  take  her  from  the  convent,  enforcing  her  request  by  a hur- 
ried recital  of  the  vexations  and  persecutions  she  had  endured. 
Mr.  Somers  listened  with  indignation,  and  this  feeling  was  further 
increased  by  his  observations  on  the  disordered  state  of  his  daugh- 
ter’s nerves,  which,  he  perceived,  was  the  effect  of  the  treatment 
to  which  she  had  been  subjected. 

It  was  not  long,  however,  before  their  conversation  was  inter- 
rupted. The  superieure,  not  finding  him  in  the  parlor,  as  she  had 
been  led  to  expect,  and  supposing  he  was  gone,  hastened  to  the 
apartment  of  Clara,  in  pursuance  of  her  new  system  of  concilia- 
tion, and  was  not  a little  startled  at  finding  Mr.  Somers  there. 
Her  anger  and  resentment,  at  this  unaccountable  intrusion  into 
the  very  heart  of  her  hitherto  uninvaded  sanctuary,  were  met  by 
his  indignant  reproaches,  on  the  subject  of  the  violence  offered  to 
his  child’s  principles.  Clara,  terrified  by  the  presence  of  the 
superieure,  clung  trembling  to  her  father’s  arm,  and  implored  him 
not  to  leave  her.  The  altercation  was  violent,  though  short ; the 
lady  requested  him,  in  the  most  haughty  and  dignified  manner, 
instantly  to  quit  her  house  ; and  Mr.  Somers,  directing  his  daugh- 
ter to  wrap  herself  up  in  her  warmest  clothing,  supported  her  tot- 
tering steps  out  of  the  convent,  and,  having  procured  a carriage, 
drove  with  her  to  the  hotel  where  he  then  resided. 

Thus  unceremoniously  was  Miss  Somers  withdrawn  from  the 
establishment,  and  it  was  not  long  before  another  was  also  pluck- 
ed from  “ the  net  which  had  been  spread  for  her  feet.”  Mr.  Som- 
ers, as  soon  as  he  had  seen  his  daughter  somewhat  recovered 
from  her  agitation,  and  comfortably  installed  in  her  new  lodging, 
immediately  wjote  to  his  friend  Captain  Wilton,  representing  the 
danger  to  which  his  daughter  was  exposed,  and  urging  him  to 
rescue  her  from  it  as  soon  as  possible.  The  result  was  exactly 
what  might  have  been  anticipated.  Captain  Wilton  hastened  to 

S , and  took  his  daughter  back  with  him,  though  without  as 

signing  the  reasons  which  induced  him  to  remove  her. 

Emily  and  Lydia  were  truly  glad  that  these  two  little  girls 


220 


AN  UNWELCOME  GUEST. 


were,  at  last,  rescued  from  the  snares  to  which  they  had  been  so 
unreflectingly  exposed  by  their  parents  ; and  much  and  fervently 
did  they  wish  that  those  most  dear  to  them  Were  also  removed 
from  the  fatal  influence  which  was  every  day  becoming  more  ap- 
parent. But,  alas  ! there  was  as  yet  no  intelligence  of  Mr.  How- 
ard ; Caroline  was  daily  more  estranged  from  them,  and  more  de- 
voted to  the  society  of  the  nuns ; and  Henrietta  and  Julia,  who 
were  only  ten  and  twelve  years  old,  were  as  completely  under  her 
influence,  as  she  herself  was  under  that  of  Sophie. 

They  both  felt  it  a great  mercy,  that  they  were  permitted  to 
enjoy  the  society  and  support  of  each  other ; — that  they  could  ad- 
vise, comfort,  and  cheer  each  other  on,  in  the  path  of  humble  and 
consistent  obedience,  while  they  strove  to  exercise  a simple  trust 
in  the  faithfulness  of  God,  and  endeavored  to  “ live  by  faith,’1 
looking  “ not  at  the  things  which  are  seen,  but  at  the  things  which 
are  not  seen.” 

They  were  now  but  seldom  annoyed,  either  by  the  nuns  or 
Miss  Smithson,  on  the  subject  of  religion  ; they  had  found  them 
determined  to  admit  no  authority  but  the  word  of  God,  and  as 
that  “ sword  of  the  Spirit”  was  a weapon  they  were  unacquainted 
with,  they  had  gradually  relinquished  the  contest.  Emily  and 
Lydia  had  often  wished  they  could  hear  or  know  something  more 
of  sister  Adelaide,  the  interesting  novice  whose  case  had  excited 
such  lively  interest,  such  deep  and  heart-felt  compassion  ; but 
they  were  now  never  invited  to  walk  with  the  sisterhood  in  the 
garden,  and,  without  a special  invitation,  no  boarder  could  intrude. 
They  saw  her,  indeed,  at  meals,  but  always  at  a distance ; they 
could  also  see  her  in  the  garden,  from  the  window  of  their  bed- 
room ; but  they  observed  that  she  always  walked  alone,  and  as 
much  apart  from  the  others  as  possible.  She  seemed  fond  of  soli- 
tary musing;  her  countenance  wore  an  unvarying  expression  of 
settled  melancholy ; and  as  her  cheek  became  every  day  more 
pale,  and  her  aspect  more  wan,  it  was  evident  that  her  health  was 
rapidly  sinking  under  the  depression  of  her  mind.  But  nothing 
ever  transpired,  to  throw  any  light  on  the  mystery  of  her  fate  ; 
Miss  Smithson,  when  the  subject  was  referred  to,  insisted  that  her 
evident  agony,  on  the  day  of  her  profession,  was  nothing  more 
than  the  natural  agitation  produced  by  the  publicity  of  the  cere- 
mony, and  her  own  conspicuous  part  in  it ; and  though  Emily 
made  several  attempts  to  speak  to  her,  on  their  leaving  the  dinner 
or  supper  table,  such  was  the  system  of  continual  suweillance  exer- 
cised in  the  house,  the  vigilance  of  which  seemed  even  increased 
with  regard  to  her,  that  she  never  could  come  near  the  object  that 
so  deeply  interested  her. 

Emily  and  Lydia  often  noticed  the  different  nuns  who  were 
absent  from  table ; some  of  them  remained  secluded  for  twm  or 
three  weeks  together,  and,  on  their  return,  seemed  to  have  endured 


A CRISIS. 


221 


severe  penance,  if  any  judgment  could  be  formed  from  their  pale, 
worn,  and  haggard  looks.  Lydia  could  never  notice  the  absence 
of  one  without  shuddering;  for  it  was  in  vain  that  she  tried  to 
forget  that  an  unhappy  nun  was  said  to  have  been  starved  in  the 
dungeons,  not  long  before  the  present  superieure  assumed  the 
reins  of  government.  Whether  true  or  false,  the  report  had  been 
communicated  to  them  both  by  Clara  Somers  and  Mrs.  Brown- 
low,  and  it  seemed  to  be  generally  believed  in  the  house ; and  they 
felt  that  such  things  were  not  only  possible,  but  probable,  under 
a system  which  bestowed  such  unlimited  power. 

But  a crisis  was  now  at  hand,  which  they  were  very  far  from 
foreseeing.  One  morning,  a messenger  arrived  early  at  the  con- 
vent, with  letters  for  the  superieure,  which  seemed  to  be  of  no 
little  importance,  for  she  called  together  a council  of  the  elder 
nuns,  among  whom  were  la  mere  Sainte  Helene,  and  la  mere 
Sainte  Euphrasie.  The  intelligence  contained  in  these  letters  did 
not  seem  to  be  of  an  agreeable  nature,  for  it  made  even  sister  St. 
Anne  look  melancholy,  and  the  sweet  countenance  of  sister  Con- 
stance was  overcast  with  a deeper  shade  of  sadness.  Many  looks 
of  tender  regret  were  directed  towards  Emily  and  Lydia;  and 
they  could  not  help  fancying  that  they  were,  in  some  way,  con- 
cerned in  what  was  going  forward,  whatever  it  might  be.  This 
was  an  idea  not  at  all  calculated  to  tranquillize  their  minds ; and 
they  could  not  altogether  suppress  the  feelings  of  undefined  ap- 
prehension to  which  it  gave  rise.  They,  however,  endeavored  to 
await  with  patience  the  development  of  the  mystery. 

Their  suspense  was  at  length  terminated.  After  dinner,  in  the 
refectory,  the  superieure  thus  addressed  the  boarders,  in  the  pre- 
sence of  all  the  nuns. 

“ It  is  my  duty,  ladies,  to  inform  you,  that  I have  this  morning 
been  honored  with  an  epistle  from  our  right  reverend  father  the 
bishop  of  this  diocese,  and  that  this  communication  concerns  you 
in  a particular  manner.  His  Lordship  observes,  that,  from  various 
circumstances  which  have  come  to  his  knowledge,  he  is  convinced 
of  the  general  inexpediency,  and  frequent  danger  of  admitting  Pro- 
testant boarders  into  religious  houses,  inhabited  by  Catholic  com- 
munities.’ He,  therefore,  in  his  tender  love,  and  fatherly  care  for 
his  children,  l\as  issued  a request, — which,  of  course,  coming 
from  such  a quarter,  is  as  forcible  as  the  most  positive  command, 
‘ that  no  more  Protestants  be  received  into  the  convents  of  this 
diocese,  and  that  those  who  are  already  inmates  in  them,  be 
forthwith  requested  to  depart, — unless,  indeed,  they  will  consent 
to  listen  to  the  voice  of  truth,  and  become  members  of  the  only 
true  and  apostolic  church.’  ” 

“ Such  being  the  case,  ladies,  it  i i my  painful  office  to  apprise 
you,  that  it  is  absolutely  necessary  that  you  should,  as  soon  as 
possible,  withdraw  from  this  house,  if  you  are  determined  still  to 

19* 


222 


A CRISIS. 


persist  m yon  r errors.  But  it  also  becomes  me  to  entreat  you 
with  the  most  tender  and  affectionate  earnestness,  to  renounce 
the  fatal  ways  of  heresy,  in  which  you  have  walked  but  too  long, 
and  to  embrace  the  holy  faith  of  that  church  whose  arms  are 
open  to  receive  you.  Oh  ! reflect,  1 beseech  yon,  and  do  not  has- 
tily reject  the  offers  of  everlasting  happiness ! Let  there  be  joy 
in  heaven,  over,  not  one,  but  several,  repenting  sinners  ! Consider, 
that,  if  you  remain  obstinate,  not  only  will  the  doors  of  this  sanc- 
tuary be  closed  against  you,  but,  at  the  great  day  of  judgment,  you 
will  be  inevitably  excluded  from  heaven,  with  these  most  awful 
words, — * Depart  from  me,  ye  cursed,  into  everlasting  fire,  pre- 
pared for  the  devil  and  his  angels  V ” 

“ I will  not  hear  your  answer  now,”  continued  the  superieure, 
observing  that  both  Mrs.  Brownlow  and  Emily  were  about  to 
speak,  “ I entreat  you  to  pause,  before  you  decide,  and  will  receive 
your  decision  to-morrow.  In  the  meantime,  my  daughters  and 
myself  will  importune  heaven  with  prayers,  that  the  Holy  Virgin 
may  give  you  grace  to  decide  aright.” 

The  lady  waved  her  hand  majestically,  as  she  concluded,  as  if 
to  prevent  a reply,  and  the  boarders,  as  well  as  the  nuns,  retired 
to  their  separate  apartments.  Caroline  would  have  escaped,  but 
Emily  and  Lydia,  each  seizing  an  arm,  forcibly  detained  her,  and 
at  length  succeeded  in  leading  her  to  their  room. 

“ Now,  then,”  exclaimed  Lydia,  “ now  is  the  time  to  Jonfess 
Christ.  A crisis  is  come,  and  it  becomes  us  to  act  with  fearless 
candor,  and  to  show  that  we  are  not  ashamed  of  that  holy  religion 
which  we  know  to  be  founded  on  the  pure  Word  of  God.  If  we 
are  Protestants,  now  is  the  time  to  prove  it,  by  openly  and  boldly 
protesting  against  the  soul-destroying  errors  of  Popery.” 

The  eyes  of  the  animated  gill  sparkled  with  enthusiasm  as, 
with  her  usual  impetuosity,  she  pronounced  these  words.  Caro- 
line was  pale  and  agitated,  and  evidently  the  prey  of  conflicting 
feelings.  Emily  could  not  speak,  for  she  dreaded  the  result,  and 
her  cheek  was  almost  as  colorless  as  that  of  Caroline.  Lydia, 
however  was  resolved  to  obtain  an  answer  to  the  question,  which 
she  saw  her  cousin  durst  not,  or  rather  had  not  the  power  to  ask. 
She  stood  before  her  sister,  in  an  attitude  expressive  of  the  most 
intense  earnestness,  and  holding  her  hands  with  an  unconscious 
grasp,  exclaimed,  as  Caroline  remained  silent. 

“Dearest  Caroline,  speak,  I entreat, — I implore  you, — speak, 
and  relieve  our  hearts  of  the  load  of  anxiety  which  has  long 
weighed  them  down, — speak,  and  say  that  you  will  leave  this 
house  with  us, — that  vou  will  not  forsake  the  religion  of  the 
Bible!” 

Caroline  withdrew  her  hands,  and  falte^ingly  replied,  “ You  are 
too  vehement,  Lydia ; you  must  give  me  time  to  reflect ; you  know 
we  are  not  to  give  our  answer  till  to-morrow.” 


A CRISIS. 


223 


11  Oh  ! but  I cannot  bear  this  suspense,”  exclaimed  Lydia,  falling 
on  her  sisters  neck,  and  bursting  into  tears.  “ I cannot  bear  to 
doubt  your  decision,  or  to  contemplate  the  possibility  of  your 
apostasy ! Caroline  !”  she  continued,  sinking  on  her  knees,  “ you 
will  not  forsake  us,  and  break  our  hearts ! — you  will  not  bring 
down  my  father’s  head  with  sorrow  to  the  grave  ! — you  will  not 
endanger  your  own  soul,  by  embracing  a system  which  is  founded 
on  the  authority  of  men,  and  directly  opposed  to  the  sure  Word  of 
God !” 

Emily  supported  Caroline,  who  seemed  ready  to  faint,  and  with 
tears  endeavored  to  second  the  arguments  of  Lydia.  The  unhap- 
py girl  sobbed  with  almost  convulsive  emotion ; but  at  that  instant 
Sister  Sainte  Anne  entered  the  room,,  and  led  her  into  the  garden 
to  enable  her  to  recover  herself.  There  wTas  evidently  a contri- 
vance in  this  well-timed  interruption,  and  Caroline  seemed  glad 
to  avail  herself  of  it.  It  was  in  vain  that  her  sister  and  cousin 
sought  another  opportunity  of  conversing  with  her ; she  was  all 
the  day  with  Sophie,  and  they  therefore  resolved  to  await  the 
hour  of  retiring  to  rest,  and  then  use  their  utmost  efforts  to  recall 
her  to  a sense  of  her  duty. 

They  visited  Mrs.  Brownlow  in  the  afternoon,  to  inquire  what 
her  intentions  were  for  the  morrow,  and  found  her  busily  employ- 
ed in  packing  up  her  wardrobe,  books,  and  other  articles.  She 
told  them  she  intended  to  leave  the  house  on  the  following  day, 
and  that  she  had  written  to  a friend,  to  secure  her  accommodation 
in  another  convent  near  Paris. 

“ You,  I suppose,”  she  sahl,  “will  also  leave  as  soon  as  you  can; 
6ut  I am  not  sure  that  you  will  take  Miss  Caroline  with  you. 
She  seems  wonderfully  captivated  with  the  nuns,  who  are  not  like- 
ly to  forego  any  advantage  they  may  have  gained.  I w'ould,  also, 
advise  you  to  look  well  to  the  two  little  girls ; for,  if  I mistake 
not,  there  wrill  be  a struggle  for  them.” 

Emily  and  Lydia  felt  alarmed,  and  thanked  Mrs.  Brownlow  for 
her  caution.  They  went  in  search  of  Henrietta  and  Julia ; but  so 
constantly  did  the  nuns  keep  them  employed,  that  they  had  no 
opportunity  of  speaking  to  them  in  private. 

Thus  passed  the  day,  in  alternate  fears  and  hopes,  tears  and 
prayers.  They  anxiously  watched  the  progress  of  the  advancing 
hours,  and  thankfully  hailed  the  approach  of  night.  The  supper 
hour  came,  and,  after  it,  the  wearisome  round  of  idolatrous  wor- 
ship. The  nuns  had  been  in  the  chapel  the  greater  part  of  the 
day,  having  had  a long  extra  service,  for  the  conversion  of  the 
heretics,  and  they  looked  fatigued  and  worn  out.  The  boarders 
were  dispirited,  and  all  gladly  retired  to  rest. 

It  was  eleven  o’clock,  and  every  sound  had  long  ceased  in  the 
convent,  when  Emily  and  Lydia  entered  the  apartment  of  Caro- 
line. She  was  not  there,  and  the  removal  of  some  of  her  clothei 


224 


THE  SEPARATION. 


plainly  indicated  that  she  had  gone  purposely  to  sleep  in  som* 
other  room, — no  doubt  in  order  to  avoid  the  arguments  and  en- 
treaties she  knew  not  how  to  oppose.  They  felt  indignant  at  the 
contrivance  by  which  she  had  thus  been  induced  to,  avoid  her 
nearest  friends;  for  they  doubted  not  that  the  infatuated  girl  had 
been  directed  in  this  action,  by  those  whose  interest  it  was  to  re- 
tain her  in  the  convent. 

That  night  was  one  of  bitter  affliction,  and  sad  foreboding,  to 
the  cousins.  They  rose  with  the  dawn,  and  Emily  wrote  to  Mrs. 
Fortescue,  entreating  that  kind  friend  to  come  as  soon  as  she 
could,  and  favor  them  with  her  advice.  Before  the  hour  of 
breakfast,  the  following  letter  was  put  into  her  hand : — 

“My  dearest  Cousin  and  Sister, 

“ You  must  forgive  me  for  what,  I feaT,  you  will  call  an  unkind 
wish  to  avoid  you.  Indeed,  indeed,  I cannot  see  you  at  present ; I 
am  not  able,  I know,  to  refute  your  arguments,  but  my  conscience 
forbids  me  to  dissemble  any  longer.  I think  the  Protestants  are 
mistaken,  and  that  the  Catholic  church  is  the  only  true  one.  I 
shall,  therefore,  remain  here,  and  I entreat  that  you  wTill  not 
make  any  further  attempts  to  dissuade  me  from  my  resolution, 
for  I assure  you  I am  quite  determined.  Henrietta  and  Julia  are 
willing  to  stay  with  me,  and  I wish  I could  persuade  you  both  to 
do  the  same.  Perhaps  you  will  say  that  I have  no  right  to  dis- 
pose of  either  my  sisters  or  myself,  without  the  sanction  of  my 
father ; but  he  has  consented  to  our  coming  hither,  and  we  have  a 
right  not  to  leave  the  place  till  he  commands  us  to  do  so.  You 
need  not  be  alarmed  about  Henrietta  and  Julia,  on  the  subject  of 
religion.  The  sup&ieure  has  kindly  promised  that  nothing  more 
shall  be  required  of  them,  than  an  outward  conformity  to  the 
rules  of  the  house. 

t;  Adieu,  dear,  dear  Emily  and  Lydia;  may  God  bless  you  with 
the  true  knowledge  of  his  will.  It  is  better,  much  better,  for  us, 
not  to  meet  for  some  time ; but  restassured  of  the  unalterable 
love  of 

“ Your  own  affectionate 

“ Caroline. 

u P.  S. — I hope  soon  to  hear  from  dear  papa,  and  if  you  will 
leave  your  address,  I shall  immediately  send  you  information 
of  it.” 

Many  and  bitter  were  the  tears  shed  by  Emily  and  Lydia,  over 
this  letter.  There  was,  however,  no  remedy  for  the  evil,  no  hope 
of  extricating  Caroline  from  the  toils  in  which  she  had  suffered 
herself  to  be  involved.  Their  only  resource  was,  a final  appeal  to 
Mr.  Howard,  and,  if  that  were  not  answered,  Emily  resolved  to 
entreat  the  interference  of  her  father. 


THE  REMOVAL. 


225 


The  dinner-hour  came,  but  Caroline  did  not  appear,  and  as 
Sophie  was  also  absent,  it  was  most  probable  that  they  had  been 
allowed  to  dine  together  in  private.  After  dinner,  the  superieure 
addressed  the  Protestant  boarders,  and  politely  requested  to  know 
their  decision,  on  the  question  she  had  proposed  to  them  the  day 
before. 

Mrs.  Brownlow  briefly  replied,  that  she  wTas  a Protestant  by 
birth  and  education,  had  been  one  all  her  life,  and  that,  as  she  was 
resolved  never  to  forsake  the  religion  of  her  country  and  her  fath- 
ers, she  would  depart  from  the  convent  on  the  following  day. 

The  superieure  expressed  great  regret  at  her  decision,  and  sor- 
row for  the  loss  of  her  society,  as  she  had  resided  several  years 
with  them.  She  added,  with  great  truth,  that  a Mahometan,  or 
an  idolator,  could  give  quite  as  good  a reason  for  not  changing  his 
creed. 

She  then  turned  to  Emily,  who  mildly,  but  firmly  replied,  that, 
as  she  was  fully  convinced  that  the  Protestant  faith  was  more 
agreeable  to  the  revealed  will  of  God  than  any  other,  she  could 
Rot,  for  one  moment,  think  of  abandoning  it,  or  even  hesitate 
about  doing  anything,  or  making  any  sacrifice  that  might  be  re- 
quired, to  prove  her  attachment  to  the  Protestant  cause.  Lydia, 
added,  that  her  sentiments  were  in  perfect  accordance  with  her 
cousin’s,  that  they  expected  Mrs.  Fortescue  in  the  course  of  the 
day,  and  should  then  decide  on  the  time  of  their  departure. 

The  superieure  frowned  angrily  at  their  answer ; but,  after  a 
moment’s  reflection,  she  smoothed  her  ruffled  brow,  and  observed, 
that  if  they  would  but  be  persuaded  to  examine  the  subject  with 
unprejudiced  attention,  she  was  convinced  they  would  find  that 
they  had  always  been,  and  were  still  in  error,  and  would,  conse- 
quently, be  induced  to  change  their  opinion.  She  offered  to  speak 
to  father  Saville,  and  request,  for  them,  the  favor  of  his  instruc- 
tions,— or  to  introduce  them  to  an  abbe  of  her  acquaintance,  a 
man  of  profound  learning,  piety,  and  zeal,  whose  arguments,  she 
was  certain,  could  not  fail  of  concerting  them.  Emily  and  Lydia, 
however,  politely,  but  coldly,  declined  her  offer,  and  the  party 
broke  up  without  any  further  conversation. 

Major  and  Mrs.  Fortescue  called  in  the  afternoon,  and  heard 
the  news  they  had  to  communicate  with  undisguised  indignation. 
They  tried  in  vain  to  see  Caroline ; she  sent  word  that  she  was 
too  ill  to  receive  any  one.  They,  howeve^  had  an  interview  with 
the  superieure,  in  which  they  warmly  remonstrated  on  the  influ- 
ence, and  protested  against  the  means  which,  they  doubted  not;, 
had  been  used,  to  induce  Caroline  and  her  sisters  to  remain  in  the 
convent,  at  the  expense  of  a change  of  religion. 

The  lady  calmly  replied,  that  no  compulsion  had  been  used ; 
that  Mademoiselle  Howard  and  her  sisters  had  acted  entirely  from 
their  own  free  will,  and  that,  as  Major  Fortescue  was  neithei 


226 


THE  DISCUSSION. 


their  relation  nor  their  guardian,  she  did  not  acknowledge  his  right 
to  interfere. 

The  Major  felt,  indeed,  that  he  had  no  authority  to  proceed  far- 
ther in  the  business;  but,  having  given  the  cousins  an  invitation 
to  their  house,  he  and  Mrs.  Fortescue  departed  ; and  the  next  day 
Emily  and  Lydia  removed  to  their  hospitable  mansion. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

THE  DISCUSSION. 

Search  the  scriptures,  for  in  them  ye  think  ye  have  eternal  life ; and  they  are 
they  which  testify  of  me. — Acts  v.  39. 

More  than  a week  had  elapsed,  since  their  leaving  the  convent  f 
and  Emily,  who  had  left  behind  her  embroidery  frame  and  one  or 
two  other  trifling  articles,  took  the  opportunity  of  the  pretext 
they  afforded,  hoping  she  might,  by  that  means,  obtain  an  inter- 
view with  Caroline.  Lydia  was  anxious  to  accompany  her,  but 
was  prevented  by  illness ; and  Emily,  therefore,  took  with  her, 
besides  the  servant,  a little  English  girl,  the  daughter  of  a neigh- 
bor of  Major  Fortescue’s,  whose  amusing  prattle  would  beguile 
the  loneliness  of  the  walk.  On  presenting  herself  at  the  grate, 
and  inquiring  for  sister  Constance,  that  amiable  nun  made  her 
appearance,  and  received  her  with  marks  of  sincere  affection. 
Emily  asked  after  Caroline,  and  was  told  that  she  was  rather  in- 
disposed. Anxious  to  see  her.  if  possible,  yet  scarcely  knowing 
how  to  make  the  request,  she  spoke  of  her  embroidery,  which  she 
had  left  unfinished,  and  told  sister  Constance,  there  were  two  or 
three  stitches  which  she  did  not  quite  understand.  This  method 
succeeded ; the  nun  paused  a moment,  then  went  to  consult  la 
mere  Saint  Helene,  and,  on  her  return,  told  Emily  that  she  might 
enter  the  convent. 

“ I cannot  show  you  how  to  do  the  stitches,  through  this  grat- 
ing,” she  said,  “ and,  as  you  have  paid  for  your  board  and  instruc- 
tion up  to  next  week,  and  are,  therefore,  virtually,  still  a pupil,  la 
mere  will  allow  you  to  enter  for  half-an-hour.  You  can  leave 
your  little  companion  in  the  parlor,  and  the  servant  had  better 
go  and  perform  her  devotions  in  the  chapel,  while  you  remain 
with  us.” 


THE  DISCUSSION. 


227 


Emily  thanked  her  with  sincere  gratitude ; and  having  directed 
little  Laura  Stapleton  not  to  leave  the  parlor,  and  received  a 
promise  from  the  portress  that  she  would  watch  over  her,  she  gave 
the  servant  leave  to  await  her  in  the  chapel,  followed  sister  Con- 
stance through  the  well-known  dark  cloisters,  and  once  more 
heard  the  ponderous  inner  door  shut  and  bolted  behind  her. 

She  had  only  spoken  truth  with  regard  to  her  work,  and  was 
deeply  engaged  in  receiving  the  last  instructions  about  its  com- 
pletion, when  she  was  accosted  by  sister  Sainte  Anne, 

“ I have  been  talking  to  your  little  companion,”  said  the  smiling 
nun  ; “ she  is  a sweet  child,  but  feels  very  much  cnnuyee  at  being 
left  alone  so  long.  I have  gathered  her  this  plate  of  fruit,  to 
amuse  her,  but  I know  not  how  to  put  it  into  her  hands.  I cannot 
pass  it  through  the  grating,  and  we  are  not  allowed  to  open  the 
door,  except  for  ingress  or  egress.  Will  you,  then,  do  me  the 
favor  to  return  to  the  outer  parlor,  and  give  her  the  fruit 
from  me  ?” 

Emily  thanked  her,  and  complied  with  her  desire ; but,  as  she 
did  so,  she  could  not  help  reflecting  on  this  little  incident,  which, 
though  trifling  in  itself,  was  a striking  exemplification  of  the 
hopeless  captivity  of  a convent.  The  parlor,  to  which  the  sister 
wished  to  convey  the  fruit,  was  not  three  feet  from  the  door  at 
which  she  had  stood  ; it  was  inside  of  the  convent  entrance,  and, 
had  she  but  opened  the  door,  and  set  one  foot  over  its  threshold, 
she  could,  with  the  greatest  ease,  have  handed  the  plate  to  the 
child*  But  this  she  durst  not  do  ; that  door  was  never  more  to 
open  for  her,  and  her  feet  were  never  again  to  approach  the  outer 
entrance.  Emily  sighed  deeply,  as  she  thought  of  the  apostate 
character  of  that  churph,  which  imposed  such  unnecessary  and 
unnatural  restrictions,  and  even  held  them  up  to  its  deluded  vota- 
ries, as  meritorious  acts  of  self-denial,  which  were  sure  to  secure 
them  an  everlasting  reward  in  heaven. 

Before  she  left  the  con  vent,  she  entreated  to  see  her  cousins ; 
Henrietta  and  Julia  were  brought  to  her,  and  sister  Constance 
went  to  ask  Caroline  if  she  would  see  her.  Caroline  consented, 
and  Emily  was  introduced  into  her  bed-room,  where  she  found 
her  suffering  from  a severe  cold.  Their  interview  was  affecting, 
but,  owing  to  the  presence  of  Sophie,  no  confidential  conversa- 
tion could  take  place.  Indeed,  Caroline  immediately  requested 
that  the  subject  of  religion  might  not  be  introduced,  and  Emily 
at  once  perceived  that  there  was  no  present  prospect  of  any 
change  for  the  better. 

Caroline  had  not  heard  from  her  father,  and  she  expressed  the 
greatest  anxiety  on  the  subject  of  his  silence.  Henrietta  and 
Julia  looked  shy,  and  seemed  to  shrink  from  Emily,  who  saw  that 
the  pernicious  influence  of  the  system  was  beginning  to  produce 
its  usual  effect  on* their  minds.  "When  she  left  them,  she  earn- 


228 


THE  DISCUSSION.  . 


estly  requested  to  be  allowed  to  see  them  sometimes  at  the  grate ; 
and  Caroline,  after  some  hesitation,  assented,  observing  that  she 
should  be  glad  to  see  her  sister  also. 

As  Emily  returned  to  Major  Fortescue’s,  her  heart  was  op- 
pressed with  sorrow  for  the  present,  and  apprehension  for  the 
future  ; and  she  found  it  difficult  indeed  to  follow  the  injunction 
of  the  inspired  Psalmist,  “ Cast  thy  burden  on  the  Lord,  and  he 
shall  sustain  thee.”  Lydia  wept  bitterly  at  the  account  she  gave 
of  her  visit ; but  they  endeavored  mutually  to  cheer  each  other 
with  the  promise,  that  “weeping  may  endure  for  a night,  but  joy 
cometh  in  the  morning.” 

Emily’s  spirits  were  somewhat  revived  by  a letter  she  received 
from  her  friend  Rose  de  Liancourt.  They  had  regularly  corre- 
sponded, ever  since  they  had  left  Madame  d’Elfort’s  ; but,  as  the 

Baron’s  residence  was  several  miles  from  S , they  had  not 

had  the  pleasure  of  meeting.  Now,  however,  Rose  informed  her 

friend  that  she  expected  to  be  at  S with  her  father  in  three 

days,  and  dwelt  on  the  pleasure  she  should  experience  in  again 
seeing  and  embracing  her  beloved  Emily.  Her  friend  was  equally 
delighted  at  the  anticipation,  and  when  the  meeting  took  place, 
she  saw  with  pleasure  that  Rose  was  much  improved  in  health, 
and  looked  cheerful  and  happy. 

“ I am  truly  so,  my  dear  friend,”  she  said,  in  answer  to  Emily’s 
observation  on  that  subject ; — “ Yes,  I am  happier  than  I ever 
was,  and  highly  favored  by  heaven.  My  dear  father  is  all  that  is 
kind  and  indulgent,  and  thinks  so  highly  of  your  poor  Rose,  that 
he  asks  her  advice  on  every  occasion.  My  darling  Claire  im- 
proves daily,  and  is  so  amiable  and  docile,  that  she  is  a most 
delightful  companion.  In  short,  I should  be  perfectly  happy,  were 
it  not  for  my  beloved  mother,  who,  I fear,  will  never  recover  hex 
intellects.  She  is  happy,  however,  in  our  society,  and  enjoys  the 
little  pleasures  and  amusements  we  procure  her,  with  the  eager 
gaiety  and  delight  of  childhood.  Oh ! my  dear,  dear  friend,  what 
numberless  reasons  I have  to  be  thankful !” 

She  then  told  Emily  that  the  next  day  would  be  her  eighteenth 
birth-day.  “ It  was  for  that  reason,”  she  continued,  “ that  I urged 
papa  to  come  to  town.  I intend  to  spend  the  whole  day  in  the 
church,  for  I have  abundant  cause  for  thanksgiving,  and  many, 
many  mercies  to  ask.  Oh ! if  I could  but  see  my  dear  father 
converted  to  God,  I think  I should  scarcely  have  one  wish  un- 
gratified.’* 

In  this  happy  frame  of  mind  Emily  left  her ; the  subject  of  re- 
ligious controversy  was  not  introduced  ; and  on  the  second  day  the 
Baron  and  his  daughter  were  to  return  to  their  chateau.  Business* 
however,  unexpectedly  detained  them,  and  Emily  had  the  pleat- 
sure  of  spending  a few  hours  with  Rose.  In  this  conversation, 
the  latter  inquired  as  to  the  particulars  of  Caroline’s  separation 


THE  DISCUSSION. 


229 


from  her  friends,  and  it  was  then,  after  Emily  had  related  the  sub 
stance  of  all  that  had  occurred  since  their  leaving  Madame  d’El- 
fort’s  that  she  learned  from  Rose  several  circumstances  of  which 
she  was  before  entirely  ignorant,  and  which  threw  considerable  light 
on  many  occurrences  that  had  before  appeared  almost  inexplicable. 

The  reader  will  remember  the  case  of  Madame  d’Elfort’s  ser- 
vant, who  died  soon  after  undergoing,  a surgical  operation,  and 
that  Caroline’s  feelings  had  been  greatly  affected  on  the  occasion. 
The  poor  woman  was  buried  by  the  parish,  and  sister  Rose,  the 
sosur  de  la  chaiite  already  mentioned,  having,  with  unremit- 
ted kindness,  attended  the  unhappy  sufferer,  from  the  begin- 
ning of  her  illness  to  its  fatal  termination,  was  actively  engaged 
in  preparing  the  body  for  its  removal  to  the  grave,  when  Sophie 
Dorville  prevailed  on  Caroline  to  accompany  her,  in  a visit  to  the 
chamber  of  death.  It  has  been  already  said,  that  the  religieuse 
was  a very  lovely  young  woman,  elegant  in  manners,  and  pecu- 
liarly fascinating  in  address.  She  was  also  very  sincere  in  her 
extraordinary  devotedness,  and  possessed  all  that  fervor  of  religious 
enthusiasm,  which  is  so  well  calculated  to  dazzle  and  captivate 
the  youthful  mind.  Her  words  made  a deep  impression  on  Caro- 
line ; and  Sophie,  who  perceived  their  effect,  thought  it  a good  op- 
portunity to  attempt  the  conversion  of  her  friend. 

She  communicated  the  circumstance  to  her  mother,  who,  with 
a zeal  which  did  honor  to  her  sincerity,  seized  every  occasion  of 
inviting  Caroline  ;to  her  house,  and  frequently  took  her  to  the  re- 
sidence of  the  Grey  Sisters,  where  sister  Rose  did  all  in  her  pow- 
er to  deepen  the  impressions  so  favorable  to  their  purpose. 

This  accounted  for  the  extreme  emotion  betrayed  by  Caroline, 
on  learning  that  Emily  and  Lydia  had  visited  sister  Rose.  Waver- 
ing and  undecided,  her  principles  shaken,  and  her  mind  unsettled, 
she  shrank,  with  nervous  timidity,  from  the  idea  of  their  knowing 
it,  and  was  only  relieved  from  her  agitation,  by  ascertaining  that 
nothing  relating  to  her  had  transpired. 

Madame  Dorville  had  taken  her  several  times  to  visit  the  Grey 
Sister  ; had  lent  her  that  eloquent  and  plausible,  but  most  danger- 
ous work,  Chateaubriand’s  “ Genie  du  Christianisme,”  and  several 
other  equally  specious  books,  which  had  produced  the  most  bane- 
ful effects  on  her  mind ; and  she  endeavored  to  complete  her  con- 
version, by  employing  the  abbe  Ronceval  to  bewilder  her  with  his 
subtle  reasonings.  A similar  attempt  had  been  tried  with  Lydia, 
but  had  been  unexpectedly  foiled.  All  these  particulars  Rose  had 
learned,  at  different  times,  from  Sophie  Dorville;  but  Emily  was 
sincerely  glad  to  hear,  that  Madame  d’Elfort  had  known  nothing 
of  the  scheme,  as  they  were  fully  aware,  that  her  conscientious 
adherence  to  her  engagements  would  prevent  her  encouraging,  or 
even  allowing  it.  Her  opinion  of  that  lady’s  uprightness  of  char- 
acter was,  therefore,  not  shaken. 

20 


230 


THE  DISCUSSION. 


Rose  departed  the  next  day  ; but  Emily  soon  after  received  a 
letter  from  her,  which  convinced  her  that  her  friend  had  not  given 
up  the  hope  of  her  conversion.  After  several  expressions  of  un- 
abated affection,  it  continued  thus, — 

“ And  now,  my  beloved  friend,  allow  your  Rose  again  to  men- 
tion a subject  which  is  still,  as  it  has  long  been,  one  of  the  nearest 
to  her  heart.  My  affection  for  you,  and  my  anxious  desire  for 
your  welfare,  led  me,  on  one  occasion,  to  infringe  the  laws  of  the 
school,  and  now  compels  me  again  to  tell  you,  how  painful  it  is  to 
me,  to  know  that  a person  whom  I love  so  tenderly  is  in  error,  on 
so  important  a point  as  that  of  her  eternal  salvation ! How  hap- 
py should  I be,  if  I could  be  the  means  of  bringing  back  to  the 
fold  of  Christ  a strayed  sheep,  for  whom  He  shed  his  blood  ! O 
my  dearest  friend  ! I entreat,  I conjure  you  to  forsake  a religion 
reformed  by  man,  and  to  embrace  that  which  Jesus  Christ  him- 
self taught  us, — even  the  Catholic,  Apostolic,  and  Roman  religion, 
which  has  existed  from  the  beginning,  and  will  endure  unto  the 
end  ! Pardon  me,  I beseech  you,  for  saying  so  much  *,  my  heart 
guides  my  pen.  I have  found  you  so  good,  so  excellent,  even  un- 
der the  influence  of  error — what  would  you  not  be  under  the  guid- 
ance of  truth ! 

“ With  regard  to  myself,  I am  not  at  all  satisfied  with  my  own 
conduct.  I am  becoming  slothful  and  careless.  1 fear  I do  not 
sufficiently  know  myself:  I have  too  much  self-love  and  pre- 
sumption. Help  me,  then,  my  dear  Emily,  to  understand  my  own 
deficiencies,  that  I may  be  enabled  to  overcome  them.  Write  to 
me  with  perfect  candor,  and  without  fearing  to  offend  me.  You 
have  much  too  good  an  opinion  of  me ; — in  your  last  letter,  you 
spoke  of  me  in  terms  which  I am  far,  very  far,  from  deserving. 

“ Adieu. — Believe  me  ever 

“ Your  sincere  and  tenderly-attached  friend, 

“Rose  de  Lian  court.” 

Emily  answered  this  request  of  the  amiable  girl,  by  reminding 
her  of  the  agreement  which  they  had  entered  into,  previous  to 
leaving  Madame  d’Elfort’s;  and  expressed  her  willingless  to  abide 
by  it,  if  Rose  still  wished  it,  and  her  confessor  would  undertake 
the  task.  She  added,  that  she  only  consented  to  enter  into  a dis- 
cussion, on  the  condition  which  had  originally  been  stipulated, — 
that  Rose  should  read  everything  that  was  written  on  both  sides 
of  the  question. 

Rose’s  answer  was  full  of  joyful  anticipation. 

“ Monsieur  de  Beauvais,”  she  wrote,  “who  is  grand  cure  of  the 
town,  and  my  confessor,  is  a man  venerable  for  his  years,  wisdom 
and  piety.  His  time  is,  at  present,  too  much  taken  up  with  pre- 
parations for  the  jubilee,  to  allow  of  his  attending  to  anything 
else  . but  he  has  promised  me  that  as  soon  as  he  has  any  leisure, 


DEATH  OF  MR.  HOWARD. 


231 


which  will  be  in  about  three  Weeks,  he  will  write  to  you  on  this 
important  subject.  In  the  meantime,  he  strongly  recommends  for 
your  perusal  a work  entitled  “ An  Amicable  Discussion,  on  the 
subject  of  the  Establishment  and  Doctrine  of  the  Anglican 
Church,  and  the  Reformation  in  general.”  It  is  in  the  form  of 
letters,  and  consists  of  two  volumes.  I beseech  you,  my  beloved 
friend,  lose  no  time  in  procuring  this  excellent  book;  or,  if  you 
cannot  get  it,  I will  send  it  you. 

41  What  happiness  for  me,  my  dear  Emily,  if  I could  one  day 
hail  you  a member  of  the  true  church  ! you,  my  friend,  in  whom 
I have  ever  reposed  so  much  confidence ! you,  whom  I love  so 
tenderly  ! I hope, — yes,  I trust,  if  you  are  but  candid,  that  I shall 
have  the  joy  of  seeing  you  abandon  error,  and  embrace  truth ! I 
pray  God,  with  all  my  heart,  to  enlighten  your  mind  by  His  Holy 
Spirit;  for,  as  you  justly  observe,  without  his  grace  we  can  do 
nothing. 

44  Monsieur  de  Beauvais  has  been  my  confessor  ever  since  I was 
nine  years  old.  Under  his  instructions  I attended  my  'premiere 
communion , and  he  has  behaved  like  a father  to  Claire  and  myself. 
He  is  so  good,  so  kind,  so  gentle  ! When  you  know  him,  I am 
sure  you  will  acknowledge  the  excellence  of  his  character. 

44  Your  own  affectionate 

44  Rose.” 

Having  despatched  her  answer  to  this  letter,  Emily  waited, 
with  mingled  feelings  of  curiosity  and  interest,  the  result  of  the 
promise  made  by  the  confessor  to  Rose.  She  did  not,  however, 
neglect  the  means  of  preparing  herself  for  the  expected  contest. 
She  read  and  searched  the  Scriptures  diligently,  especially  those 
parts  which  bear  on  the  subject : and  the  more  she  did  so,  the 
more  was  she  convinced,  that  the  doctrines  and  practice  of  the 
Romish  church  are  diametrically  opposed  to  the  plainest  declara- 
tions, and,  indeed,  the  whole  tenor  of  the  Word  of  God.  She  also 
consulted  some  approved  works  on  the  subject  of  the  intended 
controversy ; and,  above  all,  fervently  prayed  to  the  44  Father  of 
lights,”  that  he  would  guide  her  by  his  Holy  Spirit,  preserve  her 
from  all  error,  and  bless  the  discussion  to  the  promotion  of  the 
eternal  welfare  of  her  beloved  friend. 

In  the  meantime,  she  and  Lydia  had  seen  Caroline  once  or 
twice;  but  there  was  a reserve  in  her  manner,  and  a restraint  on 
their  conversation,  which  rendered  these  interviews  extremely 
distressing.  Not  a gleam  of  light  seemed  to  pierce  through  the 
gloom,  and  Mr.  Howard’s  continued  silence  became  every  day 
more  extraordinary.  But  it  was,  at  length,  accounted  for,  and  in 
a manner  as  melancholy  as  it  was  unexpected. 

A letter  arrived  for  Emily,  signed  by  sister  Constance,  inclosing 
another,  which  Caroline  had  received  from  an  English  clergyman. 


232 


DEATH  OF  MR.  HOWARD. 


It  was  dated  from  a small  and  obscure  town,  in  the  south  of  Italy, 
and  contained  the  account  of  her  father’s  death.  The  clergyman 
stated,  that  he  had  been  travelling  for  the  benefit  of  his  health, 
and  had  been  induced*  by  the  peculiar  beauty  of  the  scenery,  tc 
visit  this  spot,  which  was  several  miles  out  of  the  track  usually 
pursued  by  travellers.  The  people  of  the  little  inn  informed  him 
that  they  had  a sick  guest,  a stranger,  who  had  come  to  them 
several  weeks  before,  and,  they  believea,  was  in  a very  dangerous 
state.  He  had  been  delirious  till  within  the  last  few  hours,  and 
was  now,  though  sensible,  so  weak  and  reduced,  that  the  village 
surgeon  entertained  no  hopes  if  his  recoveiy.  Who  he  was,  they 
had  not  been  able  to  ascertain,  as  he  had  come  with  post-horses 
to  his  carriage,  and  the  only  servant  he  brought  with  him,  having 
been  hired  at  the  last  town  through  which  he  had  passed,  could 
give  no  information  about  him.  All  they  knew  was,  that  he  was 
well  provided  with  money ; and  they  thought  that  il  Signor  Inglese, 
being  his  countryman,  might  like  to  converse  with  him,  and  would, 
from  a knowledge  of  the  language  in  which  several  papers  in  his 
portmanteau  were  written,  be  able  to  inform  his  friends  of  his 
situation. 

Mr.  Mowbray  immediately  visited  the  invalid,  and  found  him 
indeed  in  a hopeless  condition.  He  resolved  to  remain  at  the  inn 
for  the  present,  with  the  view  of  being  useful  to  him ; and  his 
hopes  were  not  disappointed.  Mr.  Howard,  though  on  the  brink 
of  the  grave,  was  sensible  of  the  comfort  his  presence  was  calcu- 
lated to  give.  Though  reduced  to  the  greatest  weakness,  he  was 
able,  at  intervals,  to  converse  with  him,  and  to  communicate  his 
wishes  with  regard  to  his  family,  whieh  Mr.  Mowbray  took  down 
in  writing. 

In  these  instructions,  he  committed  his  children  to  the  care  and 
guardianship  of  his  brother-in-law,  Mr.  Mortimer.  It  was  well 
for  the  tranquillity  of  his  mind,  that,  owing  to  his  having  been  for 
the  last  three  months  travelling  in  different  parts  of  Italy,  he  had 
not  received  the  letters  which  Emily  had  written ; but  he  seemed 
to  have  entertained  some  apprehension  on  that  very  subject,  from 
the  message  he  sent  to  Caroline.  In  this  communication  he  told 
her,  that  he  feared  he  had  acted  incautiously,  in  too  hastily  in- 
dulging her  wish  to  become  a boarder  at  the  convent.  . He  en- 
treated her,  however,  as  she  valued  the  last  injunctions  of  her 
dying  father,  not  to  decide  on  any  change  of  religion,  without  due 
deliberation,  and,  above  all,  not  to  take  the  veil  till  she  was  twen- 
ty-one, but  to  visit  England,  for  at  least  three  months,  before  she 
made  any  final  arrangement,  or  took  any  important  step. 

Mr.  Mowbray  added,  that  he  had  been  enabled  to  exhibit  to  his 
dying  friend  the  gospel  way  of  salvation  by  Christ  alone,  and  had 
found  him  willing  to  listen  to  it ; that  he  had  every  reason  to  be- 
lieve that  Mr.  Howard  had  embraced  that  salvation,  as  his  only 


A MELANCHOLY  EVENT.  233 

hope ; and  that  he  had  had  the  satisfaction  to  see  him  depart  in 
peace. 

The  letter  of  sister  Constance,  in  which  this  communication 
was  enclosed,  informed  Emily  that  Caroline  had  been  so  shocked, 
so  totally  overcome,  by  this  heart-rending  intelligence,  that  she 
wa3  now  lying  seriously  ill,  and  the  superieure  had  thought  it 
necessary  to  call  in  the  physician  of  the  establishment. 

No  words  can  describe  the  state  of  anguish  and  distress  into 
which  Emily  and  Lydia  were  plunged,  by  this  double  calamity. 
It  was,  however,  no  time  to  indulge  in  inactive  sorrow  ; and  they 
were  mercifully  enabled  to  recollect  that  “ whom  the  Lord  lovetli, 
he  chasteneth and  to  take  comfort  from  the  assurance  that  it 
is  for  their  profit.”  Mrs.  Fortescue,  with  her  usual  kindness, 
immediately  went  to  the  convent,  in  order  to  ascertain  whether  it 
was  possible  to  have  Caroline  removed,  but  was  assured  that  such 
an  attempt  would  be  highly  dangerous.  She  then  sought  an  in 
terview  with  the  physician,  who  somewhat  allayed  her  fears,  by 
the  information  that  Caroline’s  illness,  being  of  a nervous  charac- 
ter, was  not  likely  to  prove  fatal,  though  her  recovery  would  pro- 
bably be  slow. 

Emily  and  Lydia  suffered  the  most  intense  anxiety,  during  the 
three  ensuing  weeks.  To  know  that  Caroline  was  ill,  suffering, 
and  in  sorrow,  and  yet  to  be  debarred  from  attending,  or  even  see- 
ing her,  was  a trial  that  required  the  utmost  exercise  of  Christian 
fortitude,  humility,  and  resignation.  At  last,  they  were  assured 
that  she  was  in  a state  of  convalescence,  but  would  not  be  able, 
for  some  time  to  come,  to  descend  to  the  parlor,  in  order  to  see 
her  friends.  In  the  interim,  the  Major  and  his  lady  were  going 
to  Paris  for  a week,  and  they  took  Emily  and  Lydia  with  them, 
hoping  that  the  change  would  tend  to  recruit  both  their  health 
and  their  spirits. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

A MELANCHOLY  EVENT. 

Blessed  are  the  dead  which  die  in  the  Lord  from  henceforth.— Rev.  xiv.  13. 

On  their  return  to  S , the  cousins  immediately  hastened  to 

the  convent.  They  saw  Caroline  at  the  grate,  but  only  for  a few 
minutes,  and  their  interview  was  most  affecting.  She  was  pale 
20* 


234 


A MELANCHOLY  EVENT 


and  sad,  and  had  evidently  suffered  much ; but  there  was  more 
friendliness,  and  less  reserve,  in  her  manner,  than  they  had  for 
some  time  seen,  and  when  Emily  informed  her  that  she  had 
written  to  her  father,  and  was  in  daily  expectation  of  his  arrival, 
she  announced,  with  a sigh,  her  intention  of  complying  with  Mr. 
Howard’s  last  wishes,  by  accompanying  her  uncle  and  family  to 
England.  Her  sister  and  cousin  heard  this  resolution  with  pleas- 
ure, and  began  to  indulge  the  hope  that  she  might  return  to  the 
path  she  had  forsaken. 

It  was,  therefore,  with  hearts  considerably  lightened,  that  they 
returned  to  their  present  abode.  A letter  lay  on  the  table,  direct- 
ed to  Emily,  in  a hand  with  which  she  was  not  acquainted.  As 
the  family  were  waiting  supper  for  them,  she  took  the  letter  in 
her  hand,  and  as  she  descended  to  the  supper-room,  just  opened 

it  to  look  at  the  signature.  It  was  “ De  Beauvais,  cure  de  S 

and- she  reclosed  it,  satisfied  that  the  subject  was  not  one  which 
demanded  an  immediate  perusal.  The  Major  observed  the  action, 
and  said,  “he  was  sorry  she  should  be  compelled  to  an  act  of  self- 
denial.” 

“ It  can  scarcely  be  called  so,  my  dear  sir,”  replied  Emily,  “ for 
the  letter  is  one  which  can  very  well  wait.  It  is  the  long-prom- 
ised epistle  from  Monsieur  de  Beauvais,  the  venerable  priest  who 
has  kindly  undertaken  to  make  me  a convert  to  his  faith.” 

“Oh!”  exclaimed  the  Major,  “is  it  from  the  old  priest  at  last ? 
Well  I wonder  you  are  not  all  impatience  to  read  it.  I must  con- 
fess, I am  not  a little  curious  to  know  how  he  will  set  about  your 
conversion.”. 

“ There  can  be  nothing  in  it,”  replied  Emily,  “ that  I should  not 
wish  my  friends  to  hear.  If,  therefore,  you  will  take  the  trouble 
of  reading  it  after  supper,  we  can  all  profit  by  the  good  father’s 
arguments.” 

“ Volontiers ,”  said  the  Major,  and  the  conversation  was  changed, 
by  Emily’s  repeating  the  substance  of  their  conversation  with 
Caroline,  and  the  hopes  inspired  by  her  unusual  frankness.  Mrs. 
Fortescue  shook  her  head,  and  begged  them  not  to  be  too  sanguine 
in  their  expectations. 

Supper  was  now  over,  and  the  Major  took  up  the  letter.  It  be- 
gan thus : — 

“ Mademoiselle, 

“ This  is  the  first  time  I have  the  honor  of  writing  to  you,  and 
I am  truly  grieved  that  this  letter  should  be  the  means  of  pouring 
a flood  of  sorrow  into  your  good  and  affectionate  heart  ” 

“Oh!  give  it  me,  I beseech  you!”  exclaimed  Emily,  turning 
pale,  and  trembling  with  agitation ; “ that  fatal  letter  contains 
some  dreadful  news,  which  I am  not  prepared  to  hear ! ” 

She  rose  from  her  chair,  and  with  breathless  emotion,  held  out 
her  hand  for  the  letter. 


A MELANCHOLY  EVENT. 


235 


“ Nay,  nay,”  said  the  Major,  soothingly,  “ you  alarm  yourself, 
perhaps  without  sufficient  cause.  Allow  me  just  to  glance  over 
the  first  page,  and,  if  it  contains  anything  really  painful,  I will 
tell  you  so  candidly,  and  give  you  back  the  letter.” 

Emily  leaned  against  the  chair,  and,  pressing  her  hands  on  her 
throbbing  heart,  watched  his  countenance  in  torturing  suspense. 

The  Major  read  a few  lines  in  silence,  while  his  open  counte- 
nance assumed  an  expression  of  pity  and  concern  ; then,  hastily 
folding  up  the  letter,  he  said,  in  a gentle  voice, 

“ I will  not  read  it  to  you  just  now : you  had  better  read  it  your* 
self.” 

Emily  caught  the  letter,  and,  running  up  to  her  room,  locked  the 
door,  threw  the  dreadful  missive  on  the  bed,  and  knelt  down  beside 
it.  Her  heart  had  already  foreboded  its  contents ; but  she  durst 
not  trust  herself  to  read  it,  till,  like  Hezekiah,  she  had  “ spread  it 
before  the  Lord.”  Having  in  a few  words  of  agonized  earnestness, 
implored  grace  and  strength  from  on  high,  to  enable  her  to  bear 
the  trial  as  a Christian  should,  she  arose,  and,  opening  the  letter 
with  a trembling  hand,  read  as  follows  : — 

t:  Mademoiselle, 

“ This  is  the  first  time  I have  the  honor  of  writing  to  you,  and 
I am  truly  grieved  that  this  letter  should  be  the  maansof  pouring 
a flood  of  sorrow  into  your  good  and  affectionate  heart.  Your 
beloved  and  excellent  young  friend  is  no  more ! Our  dear  Rose" 
de  Liancourt  has  gone  to  receive,  in  heaven,  the  reward  of  her 
amiable  virtues.  She  was  seized,  about  ten  days  ago,  with  a brain 
fever,  which  yesterday  proved  fatal. 

“ Her  death  is  an  irreparable  loss  to  her  family,  and  a' subject  of 
grief  to  all  who  knew  her.  You,  mademoiselle,  were  of  this 
number;  you  loved  her;  she  returned  your  affection  with  equal 
love ; and  your  mutual  attachment  did  honor  to  both,  for  it  was 
founded  on  sympathy  of  character. 

“ Before  her  illness,  Rose  frequently  spoke  to  me  of  you.  She 
showed  me  your  last  letter,  and  requested ‘me  to  answer  the  ques- 
tions you  proposed.  I promised  her  to  do  so,  as  soon  as  I had 
some  little  leisure ; but  hitherto  I have  been  unable  to  perform 
my  promise.  My  time  has  been  absorbed  by  my  ministerial 
duties,  and  by  other  claims  on  it  from  without,  which  admit  of 
no  delay.  As  soon,  however,  as  I am  allowed  a little  rest,  I hope 
to  have  the  pleasure  of  exhibiting  to  your  view  the  powerful 
reasons  on  which  we  rest  our  belief  in  those  truths  which  you  do 
not  acknowledge.  Do  not  fear  that  I shall  seek  to  deceive  you. 
I will  tell  you  why  Catholics  believe  those  things,  and  you  will 
judge  whether  they  are  right  or  wrong.  But,  first  of  all,  let  us 
seek  help  from  God.  You  sincerely  desire  to  know  the  truth ; 
pray  to  Him,  then,  to  teach  you ; for  if  He  do  not  enlighten  oux 
minds,  we  must  for  ever  remain  in  darkness. 


236 


A MELANCHOLY  EVENT. 


“ There  was  a doubt  expressed  in  your  letter,  which,  you  will 
allow  me  to  say,  has  pained  me  exceedingly.  You  seemed  to  fear, 
that,  in  the  event  of  your  not  becoming  a Catholic,  I should  for- 
bid our  dear  Rose  to  love  you,  or  to  continue  to  write  to  you. 
There  is  no  danger  of  that,  now  that  your  friend  is  no  more  ; but, 
were  she  still  living,  as  I wish  from  my  heart  she  were,  you  may 
rest  assured,  my  dear  young  lady,  that,  far  from  wishing  to  lessen 
her  esteem  and  affection  for  you,  I should  rather  have  sought  to 
increase  your  friendship,  and  promote  your  correspondence.  I 
Have  only  the  honor  of  knowing  you  by  what  she  told  me  of  you, 
and  by  your  letter,  which  she  left  with  me  ; but  these  sources  are 
sufficient  to  inspire  me  with  the  most  lively  esteem  for  your 
character,  and  to  convince  me  that  your  intercourse  with  your 
friends  can  only  be  favorable  to  the  interests  of  wisdom  and  virtue. 
This,  mademoiselle,  is  the  opinion  I have  formed  of  you,  and 
which  inspires  me  with  those  sentiments  of  esteem  and  respect 
with  which  I have  the  honor  to  be, 

“ Mademoiselle, 

u Your  very  humble  servant, 

“ And  affectionate  friend. 

“De  Beauvais,  Cure  de  S 

Many  and  bitter  were  the  tears  of  sorrow  shed  over  this  kind 
and  polite  letter  of  the  venerable  priest.  The  ties  of  affection 
which  subsisted  between  Rose  and  Emily  were  of  no  common 
character;  they  had  entwined  themselves  with  irresistible  power, 
round  the  heart  of  the  latter ; they  had  mixed  with  her  every  feel- 
ing, so  as  almost  to  become  a part  of  her  very  existence  ; and  it 
was  dreadful, — it  was  heart-rending,  to  have  them  thus  suddenly, 
thus  distressingly,  torn  asunder.  Her  sobs  of  anguish  almost 
terrified  Lydia ; but,  after  the  first  irrepressible  burst  was  over, 
she  was  enabled  to  throw  herself,  in  humble  faith  and  resignation, 
at  the  feet  of  Him  who  has  said  that  “ He  doth  not  afflict  willing 
ly,  nor  grieve  the  children  of  men.”  She  strove  to  yield  her  be- 
loved friend  into  his  hands,  and  to  say,  with  the  meek  submission 
of  filial  confidence,  “ Not  my  will,  but  thine,  be  done !” 

There  was  something  exceedingly  dark  and  mysterious  in  this 
afflictive  dispensation  of  Providence.  So  young,  so  interesting, 
so  peculiarly  gifted  with  every  quality  requisite  to  the  formation 
of  a lovely  and  useful  character ; the  gentle  soother  of  a mother’s 
woes, — the  guiding  star  of  her  father’s  affections,  whose  sweet 
influence  was  insensibly  leading  him  back  to  the  paths  of  vir- 
tue,— the-  affectionate  instructress  of  her  youthful  sistdr, — the 
darling  of  her  family,  who  beheld  in  her  the  pledge  of  brighter 
and  happier  days  to  the  small  circle  of  which  she  was  the  centre 
it  might  have  been  reasonably  hoped,  that  her  life  would  be  spared 
(or  great  and  beneficent  purposes.  And  when  Emily  recollected 


A MELANCHOLY  EVENT. 


237 


the  still  more  beautiful  and  interesting  features  of  her  charac- 
ter, — that  depth  and  fervor  of  youthful  piety,  that  conscientious 
sincerity  of  motives  and  action,  that  unreserved  devotedness  of 
heart  and  soul,  to  the  God  whom  her  anxious  spirit  panted  so 
earnestly  to  know, — she  wept  when  she  thought  of  all  this,  and 
of  the  hopes  she  had  indulged,  that  He  who  had  thus  “ begun  a 
good  work  in  her,”— would  still  further  enlighten  her  mind  by  the 
bright  beams  of  his  Holy  Spirit,  and  fit  her  for  some  important 
work,  by  which  she  might  glorify  him  on  earth.  But  “my 
thoughts  are  not  your  thoughts,  neither  are  your  ways  my  way3, 
saith  the  Lord.  For  as  the  heavens  are  higher  than  the  earth, 
so  are  my  ways  higher  than  your  ways,  and  my  thoughts  than 
your  thoughts.” 

“ Sweet  Rose  !”  exclaimed  Emily,  as  her  thoughts  dwelt  with 
melancholy  pleasure  on  the  truly  Christian  excellences  of  her 
departed  friend,  “ thy  weary  and  heavy-laden”  soul  is  now  at  rest, 
on  the  bosom  of  thy  God  and  Saviour.  It  was  none  but  Himself 
who  had  inspired  thee  with  those  deep  convictions,  which  so  ef- 
fectually counteracted  the  soul-deluding  doctrines  of  an  apostate 
church,  and  made  thee  feel  that  there  was  no  hope  of  salvation  for 
a sinner,  but  in  His  blood  and  righteousness.  And  the  clouds  of 
remaining  error  have  now  been  entirely  dissipated ; thou  art  now 
permitted  to  see  Him  “ face  to  face  ” and  to  “ know  even  as  thou 
art  known.”  Thy  drooping  spirit  shall  no  more  be  weighed  down 
with  the  burden  of  sin,  or  pierced  by  the  thorns  of  sorrow,  or  per- 
plexed by  distressing  doubt,  uncertainty,  and  darkness,  * for  the 
Lamb  who  is  in  the  midst  of  the  throne  shall  feed  thee,  and  lead 
thee  to  living  fountains  of  water,  and  God  shall  wipe  away  all 
tears  from  thine  eyes.” 

When  Emily  had  somewhat  recovered  the  shock  caused  by  this 
unexpected  trial,  she  paid  a long-intended  visit  to  Madame  d’El- 
fort ; and,  knowing  with  what  affectionate  tenderness  that  lady  had 
regarded  her  beloved  Rose,  she  took  with  her  the  letters  she  had  re- 
ceived from  her,  as  also  that  of  Monsieur  de  Beauvais,  feeling  con- 
vinced that  their  perusal  would  be  interesting  to  her  friend.  In 
this  she  was  not  deceived  : Madame  d’Elfort  thanked  her  for  this 
proof  of  confidence,  and  read  the  letters  with  tears  of  emotion. 

“ They  are  just  what  I should  have  expected  from  her,”  she 
said ; “ dear  Rose  was,  indeed,  no  common  character,  and  her 
actions  were  ever  those  of  a child  of  God.  Our  venerable  cur€ 
gave  it  as  his  opinion,  upwards  of  a year  ago,  that  she  was  intend- 
ed by  heaven  for  some  great  and  uncommon  destiny ; and  most 
strikingly  is  his  prophecy  fulfilled.  She  is  snatched  fromthe  sins 
and  sorrows  of  earth,  to  enjoy  the  glories  and  the  happiness  of 
heaven ; she  has  not  long  ‘ fought  the  good  fight’  of  faith,  but  she 
has  already  won  the  victor’s  reward, — even  ‘ that  crown  of  glory 
which  fadeth  not  away.’  ” 


238 


A MELANCHOLY  EVENT. 


“ That  crown,  my  dear  Madam,”  observed  Emily,  “ can  never 
be  the  reward  of  human  righteousness.  It  is  the  free  gift  of 
God;  our  beloved  Rose,  I trust,  truly  and  deeply  felt  this;  and 
she  is  now  among  the  blessed  number  of  those  who  ‘ have  wash- 
ed their  robes,  and  made  them  white  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb  ; * 
and  therefore  are  they  before  the  throne  of  God.” 

Madame  d’Elfort  regarded  Emily,  as  she  said  this,  with  a look 
of  peculiar  meaning;  then  as  if  to  change  the  subject,  she  observ- 
ed, that  it  was  incumbent  on  her  to  call  on  Monsieur  de  Beauvais, 
to  thank  him  for  his  kindness,  in  apprising  her  of  Rose’s  death, 
and  offered  to  accompany  her  to  the  house  of  the  venerable  priest 
Emily  accepted  the  offer;  and,  during  their  walk,  her  governess 
acquainted  her  with  some  particulars  respeciing  the  melancholy 
event  they  both  deplored. 

Some  hopes  had  been  entertained  of  the  recovery  of  Rose ; hei 
delirium  had  subsided;  and  the  fever  seemed  gradually  abating 
Her  father  had  been  absent,  but,  having  been  sent  for,  bad  returned 
with  precipitation,  and,  in  the  agony  of  his  feelings,  flung  himself 
at  the  side  of  her  bed,  exclaiming  with  vehemence,  “ Rose,  my 
beloved  Rose  ! my  darling  child  ! must  I lose  you  ? ” The  im- 
prudence of  this  conduct  was  soon  apparent : — the  interesting 
sufferer  had  been  in  a quiet  slumber,  but  at  this  cry  she  started 
uttered  a shriek  of  terror,  and  relapsed  into  that  state  of  delirium 
which  eventually  proved  fatal.  The  wretched  father  was  dis- 
tracted; but  it  was  a most  extraordinary  circumstance,  that  the 
unfortunate  Baroness  seemed,  on  this  distressing  occasion,  to  have 
recovered  some  portion  of  her  long-estranged  reason.  It  was  she 
who  attempted  to  comfort  her  husband,  and  spoke  of  her  daughter 
as  only  removed  from  earth  to  heaven. 

Madame  d’Elfort  added,  that  little  Claire  was  very  ill ; that  she 
had  wept  incessantly  since  the  death  of  her  sister,  and,  as  she 
was  a very  delicate  child,  serious  apprehensions  were  entertained 
of  her  not  long  surviving  her. 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  residence  of  the  cure,  and 
fortunately  found  him  at  home.  He  received  them  with  great 
urbanity  and  kindness,  and  spoke  to  Emily  of  her  friend,  in  a way 
that  soon  melted  her  into  tears. 

“ My  dear  young  lady,”  said  he,  “ your  friend  was  an  angel  upon 
earth,  and  you  were  indeed  happy  in  the  friendship  of  such  a being. 
Here  is  your  letter,  which  she  put  into  my  hand,  and  I wish  I could 
give  you  even  a faint  idea  of  the  impassioned  fervor  with  which 
she  longed  and  prayed  for  your  conversion  ; the  earnestness  with 
which  she  entreated  that  I would  leave  no  argument  untried,  that 
might  be  the  means  of  leading  you  back  to  the  fold  of  the  Good 
Shepherd.  This  was  her  last  request  to  me,  the  last  time  I saw 
her,  which  was  only  a few  days  before  she  was  seized  with  the 
fatal  disorder  that  terminated  her  existence  I saw  her  not  after 


A MELANCHOLY  EVENT. 


239 


that,  for  the  priest  of  the  village  near  her  father’s  house  was  called 
in  to  administer  the  last  sacraments  to  the  unconscious  sufferer, 
but  I had  given  her  my  solemn  promise,  and  I shall  not  fail  to  per- 
form it,  if  you  will  allow  me  to  write  to  you  on  the  subject.  The 
present  is  no  time  to  enter  on  the  discussion ; but  you  must  allow 
me  to  propose  one  question  for  your  serious  consideration : can  it 
be  a false  religion,  whose  influence  produces  such  characters  as 
that  of  Rose  ?” 

Emily’s  tears  and  sobs  almost  suffocated  her,  and  she  was  totally 
unable  to  reply  to  this  subtle  question,  though  she  felt,  and  could 
have  wished  to  say,  that  it  was  a higher  and  holier  influence  than 
that  of  Popery,  which  had  made  her  friend  w^hat  she  was.  Mad- 
ame d’Elfort,  kindly  sympathizing  in  her  emotion,  drew  her  away 
from  the  house,  anu  they  returned  to  her  own  residence. 

When  Emily  was  somewhat  recovered,  she  took  her  into  the 
garden,  and  unwilling  to  neglect  the  advantage  which  she  thought 
had  been  gained  over  her  feelings,  thus  addressed  her,  in  the  kind- 
est and  most  affectionate  manner  : — 

“ Permit  me,  my  dear  young  friend,  to  add  a few  words  to  those 
which  our  excellent  cure  has  just  spoken  to  you.  As  long  as  you 
were  my  pupil,  you  can  bear  me  witness,  that  I have  never  inter- 
fered with  your  religious  sentiments.  Rut  now  that  our  relative 
situations  are  changed,  the  obligation  to  silence  no  longer  exists. 
I would,  therefore,  as  a friend,  anxious  for  your  spiritual  welfare, 
earnestly  and  affectionately  entreat  you  to  examine  the  subject 
with  the  attention  which  its  importance  demands.  I neither  can, 
nor  will,  enter  into  any  controversy  with  you  ; but  I would  be- 
seech you,  by  every  motive  that  is  dear  or  sacred,  not  to  persist  in 
error.  Think  of  your  beloved  Rose,  and  ask  yourself,  as  Monsieur 
de  Beauvais  suggested,  whether  her  religion  could  be  false  ? Be 
assured,  my  love,  that  from  the  mansions  of  everlasting  blessed- 
ness, she  is  now  looking  down  upon  you,  with  celestial  love  and 
compassion,  and,  if  she  were  permitted,  would  join  her  entreaties 
to  mine,  to  persuade  you  to  be  happy.  Nay,  it  is  no  unwarrant- 
able stretch  of  the  imagination,  to  believe,  that  she  has  obtained 
permission  to  attend  you,  as  your  guardian  angel.  Think  of  her, 
then,  as  hovering  around  you  now,  and  fancy  that  you  hear  her  ad- 
dresing you  in  these  tender  accents  : — ‘ O my  Emily  ! my  beloved 
friend ! close  not  your  ears,  harden  not  your  heart,  against  the 
truth ! persist  not  in  an  error  which  must  for  ever  separate  us !’  ” 

Emily’s  tears  flowed  unrestrainedly,  during  this  dangerous 
speech.  Her  judgment  was  not,  in  the  slightest  degree,  misled 
by  it ; she  felt  that  it  did  not  contain  one  scriptural  or  solid  argu- 
ment ; yet  it  produced  an  effect  upon  her,  which  must  be  felt  to 
be  understood.  It  spoke  so  powerfully  to  the  feelings,  that  it  al- 
most captivated  them ; there  was  a speciousness,  a fascination  in 
*‘t,  that  dazzled  the  imagination,  and  ensnared  the  affections.  She 


240 


THE  DEPARTURE. 


felt  her  reason  almost  overpowered  by  the  spell, — her  mind  bewil- 
dered and  in  tumults.  She,  however,  breathed  a silent  prayer  for 
divine  assistance,  and  was  enabled  to  perceive  that  her  best  safe- 
guard against  her  excited  and  overwrought  feelings  lay  in  main- 
taining a total  silence.  She,  therefore,  durst  not  trust  herself  to 
reply,  for  she  felt  that,  had  she  uttered  but  a single  word,  that  word 
might  have  compromised  her. 

The  arrival  of  Mrs.  Fortescue  and  Lydia  happily  relieved  her 
from  the  embarrassment  of  her  situation,  and  they  soon  after  took 
their  leave,  promising  to  see  Madame  d’Elfort  again,  before  they 
left  France. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

THE  DEPARTURE. 

Be  not  carried  about  with  strange  doctrines.  For  it  is  a good  thing  that  the 
heart  be  established  with  grace. — Hbb.  xiii.  9. 

The  next  day,  to  the  great  delight  of  Emily  and  Lydia,  Mr. 
Mortimer  arrived,  and  their  departure  was  fixed  for  the  third  day 
after.  He  saw  Caroline  at  the  grate,  but  she  was  sad  and  reserved, 
though  she  promised  to  be  ready  to  accompany  her  friends.  Not- 
withstanding this  promise,  however,  the  intervening  time  was 
passed  in  great  anxiety  by  Emily  and  Lydia;  but  their  fears  were 
dissipated,  by  Caroline’s  leaving  the  convent,  with  her  two  sis- 
ters, on  the  day  before  that  fixed  for  their  departure. 

Emily  called  for  them,  and  thought  it  the  best  opportunity  of 
bidding  the  superieure,  and  the  other  nuns  of  their  acquaintance, 
farewell.  Their  parting  with  the  former  was  rather  polite  than 
friendly,  and  Miss  Smithson  bade  them  a very  formal  adieu ; but 
the  other  nuns  spoke  kindly,  and  Emily  was  particularly  affected 
by  the  manner  of  sister  Constance.  As  the  door  opened  for  Caro- 
line’s egress,  that  interesting  nun  embraced  them  all,  and  the  tears 
started  to  her  eyes.  Emily  clasped  her  neck  affectionately  and 
whispered,  ‘ I hope,  my  dear  madam,  that,  if  we  meet  no  more  or 
earth,  we  may  be  re-united  in  heaven.” 

“ That  must  depend  entirely  on  yourself,”  replied  the  nun,  fix- 
ing on  her  a look  of  melancholy  interest.  Then,  after  a pause. 
*he  added,  “ Could  you  favor  me  with  a few  minutes’  of  private 


THE  DEPARTURE. 


241 


conversation  ? 1 have  something  to  say  to  you,  which  I should 

much  like  to  have  an  opportunity  of  imparting.” 

Emily  bowed  assentingly,  and,  requesting  her  cousins  to  pro- 
ceed without  her,  re-entered  the  parlor,  and  was  soon  joined  by 
sister  Constance. 

“ My  dear  friend,”  she  said,  “ I have  sought  this  opportunity,  in 
order  to  speak  to  you  on  the  all-important  topic  of  religion.  While 
you  were  a pupil  in  the  establishment,  I refrained  from  pressing 
the  subject  5 but  now  that  you  are  going  away,  and  I may  never  see 
you  again,  I cannot  bear  the  idea  that  a person  I love  sincerely 
should  remain  in  the  most  fatal  of  all  errors.  Allow  me,  then,  to 
ask,  my  dear  Emily,  why  are  you  not  a Catholic  ? or  rather,  why 
do  you  not  become  one 

41  Because,  my  dear  friend,  I do  not  believe  your  church  to  be 
better  than  mine  ; — nay,  I do  not  even  believe  its  doctrines  to  be 
agreeable  to  scripture.” 

“ But  you  must  be  aware  that  ours  is  the  only  true,  Catholic, 
and  Apostolic  church ; and  that  out  of  its  pale  there  is  no  salva- 
tion.” 

The  nun  uttered  this  with  evident  sincerity,  and  an  earnestness 
that  deeply  affected  Emily.  She,  however,  answered,  without  a 
moment’s  hesitation, 

“ This  is  not  the  first  time  I have  been  told  so ; but  it  is  my 
duty  to  declare  that  I know  of  no  foundation  in  the  Word  of  God 
for  such  an  assertion.” 

Sister  Constance  looked  at  her  with  unaffected  surprise,  and 
said, 

“ I always  thought  that  you  Protestants  boasted  of  your  superior 
knowledge  of  the  Bible ; yet,  if  you  read  it  so  constantly,  how  is 
it  that  you  do  not  know  its  contents  ? The  truth  I have  asserted 
is  contained  in  that  book,  and  yet  you  say  you  are  not  acquainted 
with  it.” 

“ I have  never  seen  it  there,”  replied  Emily,  with  energy ; “ and 
I can  assure  you  confidently  that  there  is  no  such  declaration  in 
the  inspired  volume.” 

“ You  must  be  greatly  mistaken,  for  I am  equally  certain,  that 
the  very  words  I have  uttered  are  contained  in  the  Bible.” 

“ Perhaps,  then,  you  will  be  kind  enough  to  point  them  out  to 
me,  or  to  tell  me  in  which  part  of  the  Bible  they  are  to  be  found.” 

“ I really  cannot,  just  at  this  moment,”  said  the  nun,  looking 
considerably  mortified,  “ but*  if  you  will  favor  me  with  another 
interview,  before  you  leave  France,  I shall  be  able  to  prove  to  you 
that  you  are  altogether  wrong.” 

“ I certainly  will  come  again,  dear  Madam,  since  you  wish  it , 
and  if  you  can  show  me  the  words  you  have  mentioned  in  the 
Bible,  I shall  most  readily  acknowledge  that  you  are  right.’’ 

“ But,  if  I convince  you  of  your  error,  will  you  be  willing  to 

21 


242 


THE  DEPARTURE. 


renounce  it?  Will  you  consent  to  be  further  instructed  in  the 
truth,  either  by  our  confessor,  Mr.  Saville,  or  by  some  other  priest  ?” 
“ My  dear  friend,”  said  Emily,  “ I require  no  further  instruction. 
If  you  can  show  me  in  the  Bible,  that  ‘ the  Roman  Catholic  church 
is  the  only  true  one,  and  that  out  of  its  pale  there  is  no  salvation,* 
I shall  be  fully  convinced  of  the  validity  of  its  claims  to  infalli 
bility,  and  shall  be  ready  to  submit  to  all  its  dictates.” 

“Your  conversion,  then,  is  both  easy  and  certain,”  exclaimed 
sister  Constance,  while  her  eyes,  usually  so  sad  and  dove-like, 
sparkled  with  animation  and  delight.  “ The  passage  you  want  is 
in  the  New  Testament,  and  I will  look  for  it,  and  show  it  you  to 
morrow.” 

“ Are  you  allowed  to  read  the  Bible  in  the  convent?”  inquired 
Emily,  who  had  never  seen  one  there,  and  strongly  doubted  the 
permission’s  being  granted. 

“ Certainly,”  replied  the  nun,  looking,  however,  somewhat  con- 
fused, “we  have  one  in  the  house,  and  if  you  will  come  to-mor- 
row, I shall  be  prepared  to  show  you  the  passage  in  question,  and 
shall  also  expect  you  to  fulfil  your  promise  to  me.” 

“ Farewell,  then,  till  to-morrow,”  said  Emily,  and  they  parted. 
Emily  felt  deeply  interested  in  the  conversation  which  had  just 
taken  place,  and  in  the  result  of  the  next  day’s  meeting.  It  was 
evident  that  the  amiable  nun  firmly  believed  in  the  truth  of  what 
she  had  said.  She  had,  probably,  never  read  any  part  of  the  Bible 
herself,  except  the  few  extracts  in  her  prayer-book.  How  would 
she  feel,  when  she  found  that  the  assertion  she  had  made,  and 
which  she  had,  no  doubt,  heard  repeatedly  from  others,  formed  no 
part  of  the  Word  of  God  ? But  would  she  be  allowed  even  to  look 
for  it  ? Emily  feared  not,  and  she  therefore  resolved  to  take  with 
her  a French  New  Testament.  She  was  sincerely  attached  to 
sister  Constance,  and,  therefore,  prayed  earnestly  for  the  divine 
blessing,  on  the  conversation  which  was  about  to  take  place. 

But  she  was  little  aware  of  the  constant  vigilance  exercised  in 
a convent,  or  of  the  promptitude  of  the  apostate  church,  in  coun- 
teracting everything  that  might  be  hostile  to  its  influence. 

At  the  appointed  hour,  she  presented  herself  at  the  grate,  with 
a French  Testament  in  her  hand.  After  she  had  waited  some 
time,  sister  Constance  made  her  appearance ; but  she  looked  hur 
lied  and  agitated,  and  had  evidently  been  weeping. 

“ My  dear  friend,”  she  said,  “ I am  truly  sorry  that  I have  given 
you  the  trouble  of  coming,  for  I am  so  very  much  engaged,  that  ] 
cannot  stay  one  moment  with  you.” 

Emily  felt  extremely  disappointed,  and  reminded  her  of  the  en- 
gagement they  had  made,  and  the  promise  each  had  given  th« 
other.  The  nun,  however,  though  with  evident  reluctance,  per 
sisted  in  pleading  her  numerous  avocations,  and  the  utter  impossi 
bility  of  her  spending  even  a few  minutes  with  her. 


THE  DEPARTURE. 


243 


“ Perhaps,”  observec  Emily,  “ the  present  may  be  an  incon- 
venient time  for  you ; but,  though  1 cannot  come  to-morrow,  as 
we  are  to  set  out  early  in  the  morning,  I wrill  return  at  any  hour 
this  evening,  if  you  will  only  grant  me  five  minutes’  conversation. 
Do  not  refuse  me,  dear  madam,  for  it  is  most  probable  that  we 
shall  never  meet  again  on  earth.” 

The  sister  was  affected,  and,  after  a pause,  replied, 

“ Well,  my  dear  Emily,  if  you  can  return  at  six  this  evening,  I 
shall  strain  every  nerve  to  have  a few  moments’  conversation  with 
you.” 

They  parted  with  this  understanding ; and,  precisely  as  the 
church  clock  struck  six,  Emily  was  again  at  the  doer. 

The  portress  did  not  invite  her  to  enter  the  parlor ; but  as  she 
withdrew  from  the  door,  the  pale  face  of  sister  Constance  appeared 
at  the  small  grating. 

“ It  is  in  vain,  my  dear  friend,”  said  she,  in  a dejected  tone,  “ I 
cannot  give  you  even  one  moment.” 

Emily  felt  unable  to  urge  her  request,  but  her  look  of  entreaty 
spoke  volumes,  as  she  merely  said, 

“ I have  brought  a New  Testament  with  me.” 

Tl^e  color  rushed  to  the  cheek  of  the  nun,  and  in  a hurried,  and 
almost  imploring  voice,  she  repeated,  “ It  is  in  vain, — I cannot 
speak  to  you  !”  Then,  in  a low  and  suppressed  tone,  she  added, 
“ I have  told  la  mere  superieure  how  much  I wished  for  a few  mo- 
ments’ conversation  with  you ; but  it  cannot  be  ; I cannot  be  al- 
lowed  to  speak  to  you ! Farewell ! God  bless  you  1”  and  the 
tears  gushed  from  her  eyes,  as  she  hastily  withdrew  from  the 
small  grating,  and  t||e  portress  drew  the  shutter  across  it. 

Emily  stood  for  a moment  riveted  to  the  spot,  with  her  eyes  fixed 
on  the  door  from  which  sister  Constance  had  disappeared.  She 
then  slowly  bent  her  steps  homeward,  reflecting  on  the  disappoint- 
ment she  had  experienced.  It  w’as  evident  that  the  nun  had  con- 
fessed, either  to  the  priest,  or  the  inmates  of  the  convent,  her  con- 
versation with  Emily,  their  intended  interview,  and  its  object. 
She  had  probably  been  obliged  to  ask  for  a Bible,  and  the  rulers  of 
the  convent  had  become  alarmed.  They  had  feared  that  the  prey, 
so  successfully  entangled  in  their  net,  might  struggle  to  escape, 
and  had,  therefore,  with  the  caution  so  characteristic  of  their  sys- 
tem, wisely  resolved  to  prevent  the  danger,  by  forbidding  the  in- 
terview. In  what  way  they  had  accounted  to  their  victim  for  the 
necessity  of  these  precautions,  remained,  of  course,  a mystery ; 
but  Emily’s  heart  swelled  with  indignant  sorrow,  as  she  thought 
of  the  cruel  perfidy  which  marked  th^ir  conduct,  and  the  melan- 
choly state  of  spiritual  darkness  in  which  the  interesting  nun  was 
thus  retained  by  their  tyranny.  They  were  “ blind  leaders  of  the 
blind and  she  shuddered,  as  she  prayed  that  they  might  not 
* both  fall  into  the  pit.” 


244 


THE  RETURN  TO  ENGLAND. 


The  party  set  out  the  next  morning,  on  their  return  to  Eng- 
land, and  as  their  voyage  approached  its  termination,  it  seemed  as 
if  the  dark  clouds  of  sorrow  and  anxiety  were  gradually  yielding 
to  the  sweet  influence  of  returning  cheerfulness  and  hope.  They 
arrived  in  safety,  and  again  revisited  the  scenes  and  friends  of 
former  days.  Some  sad  recollections  unavoidably  presented  them- 
selves, but,  after  a time,  peace  and  serenity  regained  their  as- 
cendency, and  it  was  finally  settled,  that  Caroline  should  remain 
at  her  uncle’s  house  till  she  was  of  age,  while  Henrietta  and  Julia 
should  be  sent  to  G , and  placed  under  the  care  of  Mrs.  Har- 

ley, the  excellent  and  pious  governess  who  had  educated  Emily 
and  Caroline.  Lydia  was  also  to  spend  a year  or  two  at  the  same 
establishment,  with  a view  to  the  completion  of  her  education, 
and  Emily  and  Caroline  were  invited  by  Mrs.  Somerville  to  pass 
a few  weeks  with  her.  The  former  gladly  availed  herself  of  her 
father’s  permission,  to  accept  the  invitation  ; and  the  latter,  after 
some  hesitation,  resolved  to  accompany  her. 

Great  was  the  sorrow  of  their  kind  friends,  both  at  Cliffden 

parsonage  and  at  G , to  find  that  the  subtleties  of  popery  had 

thus  succeeded  in  bewildering  the  mind  of  Caroline,  and  that  her 
influence  had  operated  on  her  two  younger  sisters,  to  draw  them 
into  the  same  snare.  They  resolved,  hpwever,  in  humble  depend- 
ence on  divine  assistance,  to  endeavor  to  undeceive  her,  without 
attempting  to  put  any  constraint  on  her  inclinations. 

Caroline  was,  at  first,  extremely  reserved,  and  adhered,  with 
scrupulous  exactness,  to  all  the  forms  of  her  new  religion.  Mr. 
Saville  had  given  her  a general  letter  of  recommendation  to  the 
priests  of  his  persuasion,  in  whatever  town*  she  might  inhabit, 
and  she  had,  in  consequence,  placed  herself  under  the  guidance  of 

the  priest  at  G , who  was  one  of  the  strictest  and  most  bigoted 

of  his  fraternity.  By  him  she  wras  introduced  to  the  chief  mem- 
bers of  his  congregation,  who,  knowing  the  character  of  the  family 
with  whom  she  was  now  residing,  resolved  to  use  every  exertion 
to  preserve  her  from  their  influence.  Mr.  Dudley  himself  watched 
over  his  new'  charge  with  no  common  jealousy,  and  Caroline 
seemed  almost  to  live  apart  from  her  friends,  at  the  very  time  that 
she  was  residing  in  the  midst  of  them. 

There  were  a few  moments,  however,  when  she  was  more 
accessible,  and,  as  she  found  that  her  liberty  was  not  interfered 
with,  she  became  gradually  less  reserved.  The  hallowed  influ- 
ence of  former  associations,  too,  seemed  to  be  regaining  some  as- 
cendency over  her  mind,  and  her  friends  began  to  hope  that  she 
would  eventually  see  through  the  mists  of  error  that  had  obscured 
her  reason.  They  thought  it  best  to  abstain  from  argument  with 
her,  and  gently  endeavored  to  lead  her  mind  to  more  scriptural 
views.  She  gradually  suffered  herself  to  be  persuaded  to  join  in 
the  prayers  of  the  family,  and  at  length  yielded  to  the  entreaties 


THE  RETURN  TO  ENGLAND. 


245 


of  Lydia,  that  she  would  hear  Mr.  Somerville  preach,  in  the 
church  she  had  so  long  attended.  This  service  seemed  to  make  a 
powerful  impression  on  her  mind;  she  felt  herself,  as  it  were, 
carried  back  to  those  days  of  hallowed  enjoyment  when  she  had 
hung  delighted  on  the  words  of  the  faithful  pastor,  and  “ received 
with  meekness  the  engrafted  word,  which  was  able  to  save  her 
soul.”  Again  she  heard  those  heavenly  instructions,  and  they 
sounded  in  her  ears  like  the  sweet  strains  of  long-forgotten  music  ; 
again  she  listened  to  the  words  of  eternal  life,  from  the  lips  of  him 
who  had  been  the  instrument  of  leading  her  to  God,  and  some 
portion  of  her  former  feelings  rushed  back  upon  her  soul.  Emily 
and  Lydia  saw  the  tears  she  shed,  and  their  hearts  thrilled  within 
them,  in  joyful  anticipation,  and  their  prayers  ros^  with  silent 
fervor  to  the  God  of  all  Grace,  the  “ Father  of  lights, ^from  whom 
cometh  every  good  and  perfect  gift.” 

The  next  morning,  Caroline  received  a visit  from  a lady  to 
whom  the  priest  had  introduced  her.  The  vigilance  of  Popish 
zeal  had  discovered  her  crime,  in  attending  a Protestant  place  of 
worship,  and  this  lady  had  been  deputed  to  remonstrate  with  her, 
on  this  flagrant  breach  of  propriety.  Caroline  felt  annoyed  by 
the  consciousness  of  being  thus  closely  watched,  but  assured  her 
friend  that  she  was  true  to  the  church,  and  had  not,  even  in 
thought,  swerved  from  her  allegiance.  But,  from  that  day,  there 
was  no  more  peace  for  her.  Every  action  was  watched,  can- 
vassed, and  commented  on,  by  her  Romish  friends,  and  every 
opportunity  seized,  of  lecturing  and  directing  her,  till  she  became 
weary  of  such  unwarranted  interference.  Pier  repeated  assur- 
ances of  fidelity  to  the  church  seemed  to  have  but  little  weight, 
and  her  impatience  under  this  system  of  petty  persecution  did  not 
mend  the  matter. 

All  this  opposition,  however,  produced  an  effect  very  different 
from  that  which  was  intended.  It  roused  the  mind  of  Caroline  to 
inquiry,  and  disposed  her  to  listen  more  favorably  to  the  simple 
truths  of  the  gospel.  Again  she  read  her  long-neglected  Bible,  and 
prayed  for  divine  illumination  to  understand  its  blessed  truths. 
Her  friends  rejoiced  over  this  promising  alteration  in  her  senti- 
ments ; but,  in  the  meantime,  the  priest  was  not  idle.  He  wrote 
to  Mr.  Saville,  informing  him  of  the  danger  in  which  his  new  con- 
vert stood;  and,  as  soon  as  time  would  permit,  the  last-named 
gentleman  made  his  appearance  at  G . Pie  obtained  an  inter- 

view with  Caroline,  who  was  much  startled  at  seeing  him.  He 
told  her  of  the  anxiety  for  her  spiritual  state,  which  had  induced 
him  to  undertake  a long  and  fatiguing  journey  ; and  so  completely 
did  he  re-establish  his  power  over  her,  that  she  was  prevailed  on  to 

shorten  her  stay  at  G , and  return  to  her  uncle’s,  where,  he 

thought,  she  would  be  less  under  Protestant  influence. 

Emily  followed  her  cousin,  and  the  priest  also  established  him- 
21* 


£4  6 


CONCLUSION. 


self  for  a short  time  in  the  town,  with  the  intention  of  keeping  a 
strict  watch  over  her ; and  it  was  not  long  before  he  denounced 
and  forbade  her  intknacy  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Morton.  Caroline 
remonstrated,  and  represented  the  impossibility  of  her  thus  giving 
up  every  one  of  her  former  friends  ; but  father  Saville  was  positive, 
and,  imagining  that  he  could  carry  the  point  with  a high  hand, 
continued  to  assail  her  with  such  constant  importunities,  that  his 
conduct  came  to  the  knowledge  of  Mr.  Mortimer,  who  felt  it  his 
duty  to  interfere.  He  accordingly  called  on  the  priest, *and  polite- 
ly, but  firmly,  insisted  on  his  ceasing  to  persecute  his  niece.  Father 
Saville,  however,  treated  the  injunction  with  contempt,  and  re- 
solved to  follow  up  his  system  with  Caroline,  till  he  succeeded  in 
prevailing  on  her  to  return  to  the  convent. 

He  had,  however,  somewhat  overrated  the  extent  of  a power 
which  was  now  on  the  decline  ; and  the  violence  of  his  zeal  ac- 
celerated its  overthrow.  He  discovered  that  Caroline  had  again 
visited  Mrs.  Morton,  and  had  even  so  far  transgressed  his  orders  as 
to  have  attended  the  church  at  Cliffden,  and  heard  Mr.  Morton 
preach.  His  wrath  was  kindled  by  this  circumstance,  and  losing 
sight  of  all  prudential  considerations,  in  the  vehemence  of  his  zeal, 
he  reproached  her  for  her  inconsistency  and  wavering,  in  terms  so 
bitter,  and  with  so  little  regard  to  moderation,  or  even  the  com- 
mon courtesies  of  life,  that  her  indignation  was  at  length  roused 
to  throw  off  the  yoke  of  spiritual  tyranny.  Her  eyes  had  been 
gradually  opening  to  the  errors  of  the  system  by  which  her  senses 
had  been  captivated,  and  her  better  judgment  for  a time  bewilder- 
ed ; and  his  intemperate  conduct  severed  the  remaining  link  that 
bound  her.  She  asserted  her  independence  of  all  priestly  author 
ity,  and  her  right  to  follow  the  dictates  of  conscience  alone,  espe 
cially  in  matters  of  religion. 

The  priest  was  disconcerted,  and  endeavored  to  retrieve  his  error . 
but  found,  to  his  great  dismay,  that  he  had  lost  his  former  influ- 
ence, beyond  all  hope  of  regaining  it.  Caroline  appealed  to  her 
friends,  and  they  thought  it  best  to  remove  her  from  the  scene  of 
contention.  She  and  Emily,  therefore,  once  more  returned  to 

G , and  amidst  the  religious  privileges,  and  truly  Christian 

society  of  that  place,  her  mind  was  gradually  strengthened,  nour 
ished,  and  confirmed  in  the  truth.  She  was  led  to  pray  earnestly 
for  divine  direction,  and  experienced  the  fulfilment  of  that  blessed 
promise, — u I will  bring  the  blind  by  a way  that  they  know  not ; 
I will  lead  them  in  paths  that  they  have  not  known.  I will  make 
darkness  light  before  them,  and  crooked  things  straight*,  these 
things  will  I do  unto  them,  and  not  forsake  them.”  Often  did 
she  look  back,  with  wondering  gratitude  and  adoration,  in  the  way 
by  which  she  had  been  led  from  the  perplexing  mazes  and  dan- 
gerous errors  of  a system,  which  cannot  be  better  described  than 
by  the  words  of  our  blessed  Saviour  to  the  Pharisees,  “ Ye  have 


CONCLUSION. 


247 


set  the  word  of  God  at  naught  by  your  tradition ; but  in  vain  do 
they  worship  me,  teaching  for  doctrines  the  commandments  of 
men.” 

Christian  Parents  ! Protestant  Parents  ! bear  with  me,  while  I 
again  repeat  the  warning  I have  already  endeavored  to  impress  on 
your  minds.  You  are  called  Protestants ; you  glory  in  being  the 
descendants  of  those  who  'protested  against  Popery,  even  when  it 
was  enthroned  in  the  high  places  of  our  land.  They  stepped  for- 
ward boldly,  to  assert  the  cause  of  truth,  endured  a long  and  glo- 
rious struggle,  for  that  religious  liberty  which  can  only  flow  from 
the  possession  of  the  pure  Word  of  God,  and  succeeded  in  securing 
that  invaluable  treasure,  though,  in  too  many  instances,  at  the 
price  of  their  own  lives.  And  can  you  so  lightly  regard  the  bless- 
ings they  suffered  and  bled  to  procure  for  you  ? Can  you  deem 
that  danger  trifling,  which  threatens  again  to  bring  your  children 
under  “ the  yoke  of  bondage Shall  the  acquisition  of  mere 
worldly  accomplishments  be  put  in  competition  with  the  dearest, 
— the  most  important  interests  of  your  helpless  children  % 

It  is  a delusion  to  imagine,  that  no  danger  can  exist,  because 
the  heads  of  Roman  Catholic  establishments  promise  not  to  inter- 
fere writh  the  religious  sentiments  of  their  pupils.  That  promise 
is  not  always  kept ; but,  even  where  it  is  adhered  to,  as  in  the  case 
of  Madame  d’Elfort,  with  scrupulous  fidelity,  there  are  a thousand 
perils  lurking  in  everything  that  surrounds  the  young  persons 
thus  exposed.  The  splendor  of  Popish  rites  and  ceremonies,  so 
captivating  to  the  warm  imagination  of  youth, — the  specious  plau- 
sibility of  Popish  doctrines,  which  they  must  constantly  hear 
taught  and  enforced,  in  the  instructions  given  to  their  Roman 
Catholic  companions, — the  seducing  influence  of  Roman  Catholic, 
associations  and  friendships, — and  the  numberless  fascinations  of 
a religion  which  appeals,  with  almost  irresistible  power,  to  the 
senses,  and  through  them,  contrives  to  dazzle  and  bewilder  the 
mind, — all  these  are  ranged  in  formidable  array,  against  the  yet 
unfixed  and  uncertain  principles  of  an  inexperienced  girl, — and  is 
it  a subject  of  wonder,  that  they  too  often  prevail  ? 

But,  granting  that  she  does  not  fall  into  the  snare,  so  far,  at 
least,  as  a change  of  religion  is  concerned, — still,  the  evils  that 
must  necessarily  arise  from  such  an  education,  are  manifold  and 
serious.  Their  principles  are  unsettled,  the  Bible  neglected,  a 
thousand  unscriptural  notions  insensibly  adopted,  the  sense  of  the 
importance  of  religion  gradually  lessened,  and  its  plac^  supplied 
by  a spirit  of  levity,  and  indifference  to  spiritual  things.  Chris- 
tian Parents  ! will  you  expose  your  children  to  such  evils  ! Oh ! 
if  you  value  their  immortal  souls, — if  you  know  the  preciousness 
of  that  Bible*which  testifies  of  Christ,  and  leads  the  sinner  to  him 
alone,  for  pardon,  peace,  and  salvation, — if  you  prize  the  blessings 
»f  a scriptural  faith,  consecrated  and  secured  by  the  blood  of  mar- 


248 


CONCLUSION. 


tyrs, — if  you  dread  the  possibility  of  your  childien’s  being  again 
entangled  by  that  anti-christian  system  which  is  designated  by 
the  pen  of  inspiration,-  “ the  mystery  of  iniquity,”— beware,  oh! 
beware,  how  you  trifle  with  their  eternal  interests,  by  abandoning 
them  to  its  fascinations,  and  by  forgetting  the  solemn  injunction, 
M Come  out.  of  her,  my  people,  that  ye  be  not  partakers 

OF  HER  SINS,  AND  THAT  YE  RECEIVE  NOT  OR  HEE  PLAGUES.*' 


# 


; 


. (7  9-  < 


